Of Fate, Time, and Other Silly Notions
by Souptastick
Summary: Andrea Mason was a simple person. She was camping, enjoying her well earned time-off to be among nature. Her cousin had went missing five years ago in these very same woods. An odd noise echoed in the distance; it sounded like...static? She gripped her gun and slowly headed towards the flickering light in the trees...
1. Chapter 1

Hi! This is my very first attempt at a fan-fic, so bear with me.

Miraak's description in this story comes from a fan-art where they redid part of his face to look more dragon-ish, or daedric. Either way, I thought it was a vast improvement from the game. I apologize, I don't know who originally did the art or much about it. It just comes up in google image search.

If you see anything that bothers you, doesn't make sense, or obvious grammatical errors, please feel free to leave a comment below (or PM me).

I've been having trouble getting page breaks and spaces to show up, so when I catch it, I try to re-upload the chapter using [-] to represent a break.

Thanks for reading!

[-][-][-][-][-]

Andy sat haphazardly by the stone table, staring off into one of the various dark recesses of her self-described cage. Her chair was composed of a mixture of stone, ivory (or what she presumed was), and an odd metal. Intricate patterns adorned all of the fixtures in said "cage". She sighed, closed her eyes, and put pressure on them from the inside of her palms.

The room was quite large. A ceiling did not appear to exist; it nearly disappeared into this dark green fog. The bars sectioning this room off also disappeared in said green fog. On all sides were stacks of dingy books, bookcases, tables with more dingy books, and what appeared to be gate. She quickly contemplated her current situation:

1\. She was no longer camping.

2\. She had followed a strange noise into the woods.

3\. She had been here for weeks, maybe longer (her watch had stopped, and probably mostly to do with the crack in the screen it received "upon impact" with the ground).

4\. There was this HP Lovecraftian thing on the other side, reading a book. She had nicknamed it Mr. Tentacles.

Unfortunately, Mr Tentacles was not one for talking. Her pathetic attempts at communication had failed; it refused to even turn around to face her (which honestly, she wasn't too sad about, as she had gotten a look at the front side before, and vomited). About the only noise it made was some sort of bizarre growl whenever she attempted to open, what appeared to be, the exit.

She stared at the pile of old puke in the corner. A couple of books were caught in the crossfire. Maybe this place had library fines? She smiled; she was definitely crazy.

Her neighbor did not seem to mind her progressions towards exploring any other part of the room, though. She had quite the collection of books piled on top of what she claimed as "her table", in "her corner". She still had her giant, ridiculous backpack, full of necessary items: granola bars, tampons, deodorant…her work laptop, which she wondered why she even packed. Some of this cluttered the giant stone surface. However, during her seemingly unending stay, she had not once felt the desire to eat or drink. Or piss, for that matter. She would only fall asleep.

In fact, it was as if everything had "stopped". Her phone battery was completely dead. She had yet to use the bathroom or bathe, but smelled fine (she unceremoniously sniffed at her armpit to verify this claim). She felt frozen in time, although her neurological state had been left free to contemplate this phenomenon. Scientifically, there was no explanation she could come up with.

"She blinded me with SCIENCE!", an amused grin plastered on her face.

Mr. Tentacles ignored her. She frowned, and stuck her bottom lip out.

At one point she had fallen asleep in her surprisingly uncomfortable stone/metal chair, and woken up to what sounded like clanging of metal, in the otherwise maddening silence. In front of her was a book, with similar writing that adorned the literature around her.

Andy's specialty in life had always centered on science and math. She had spent most of her career traveling to various locations in the world, for a plethora of engineering firms, providing solutions to any and all structural issues; dubbing herself "a career whore", always for sale to the highest bidder. Her most recent project had landed her in the middle east, in what is commonly referred to as a "man camp". Decent per diem, an 80% bump on her base, and overtime galore.

Perhaps that is why she was handling her new found isolation quite well?

Oh, and there was always Mr. Tentacles, of course.

Anyways, foreign language was not her forte. Her Spanish teacher in high school gave her a B, out of pity. "Donde esta el bano", was the extent of two years.

Bright green eyes scanned the dull cover. Upon further inspection, she noticed that each page had a picture on it, with a single, large symbol on the upper left corner.

Oh **_goodie_**.

She took out her notebook and pencil from her backpack. A couple of scribbles later, and she was on her way to creating the beginning of her own Rosetta Stone.

Well…not quite that extensive, but her neighbor was quite impressed when she yelled excitedly at him (it really wasn't, it never moved).

After a few days, she had managed to decipher most of the strange alphabet, and even started to recognize certain words. "Elk, cow, lavender" were among her most accomplished vocabulary. "Daedroth and scathecraw", not so much.

What kind of reality had she ended in? Was this just her imagination? Was she in a hospital bed in a coma? Was this hell?

She wondered if this might have been where her cousin disappeared to, all those years ago.

It had been weeks since she arrived, face first, into the floor here. Maybe longer. Her sense of time had started to degrade. She had taken it upon herself to dive further into her readings and translations, to keep her mind occupied; her notepad becoming full of the strange writing. She had even started to be able to "read" some of the other novels around her, albeit, progress was slow.

She picked up a random book.

"The lu…lust…lusty Ar-go-nih-an maid."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. She put it right back where it belonged.

Occasionally she would sketch her roommate, even proceeding to break it out into comic strips. She added text bubbles, imagining it saying witty things like "how many tickles does it take to tickle an octopus? TEN TICKLES!"

She felt her sanity slowly slip away. She had, at first, resorted to talking to herself. After time passed, she wound up saying nothing. The silence was weighing her down. She doubted her own voice worked anymore, and didn't care.

One day (or week, or hour…time had no meaning) she finally decided she could no longer remain cooped up in "her corner". Packing all her belongings up, she slipped the straps of her bag over her shoulders, snapping the front clip.

Her aunt owned about 500 acres south of the Appalachian mountains, in South Carolina. It was quite a thick wooded lot. Andy often spent time here during her childhood, and her and Michelle would camp for days, pretending to be part of the Rough Riders.

Her uncle had passed away when Andy was twelve years old. Michelle had only been three at the time, and as far as Andy knew, never had anything but a few hazy memories of her father. Her aunt had tried the life of a single mother, but eventually fell back in love, marrying a guy named Ted.

Michelle had disappeared without a trace one night. According to Aunt Cathy, Michelle and Ted had gotten into a heated argument over curfews, and she stormed out of the house, into the woods.

The next day, helicopters and hundreds of people formed search parties, combing the entirety of the region. All they found was her cellphone, about thirty miles west of Pickens, in a ditch.

The authorities even drug poor Ted in for questioning, listing him as potential suspect. While no one blamed him for what happened, you could always see the guilt in his eyes. He blamed himself for her death, and there was nothing you could say that would change it.

Those were dark times. She was in California at the time, finishing up her masters. Michelle and her had never been "best friends forever" close, but she still missed her cousin, regardless.

Ted had given her a Henry Varmint Express a few years back. It was mostly for keeping coyotes away and had decent range. Once a year, she would take vacation and come spend two weeks with her Aunt and Ted, sometimes camping for a few days.

She loaded 11 bullets in the magazine, and cocked the lever back.

She looked up. It hadn't noticed. She could shoot it, but, it was Mr. Tentacles.

And that was simply _unacceptable_.

Slowly, she crept towards the ornate handle. She felt the cold, bizarre metal in her hand, all the while keeping her sight on Mr. Tentacles. It flipped a page in the book.

Going as slow as she could, she pulled a bit and found that it was never latched.

She stood there staring at the gap. What…a complete… _moron_. How could she never have checked it before? Oh yeah…

She turned into a face full of Mr. Tentacles. Some elliptical mouth of razor sharp teeth, where the stomach or chest should have been. About twenty arms, or tentacles, were feverishly waving about. This thing was a biological fuck-up from a bad science fiction movie.

And she was pretty sure she would have crapped her pants, if possible.

It started making the weird noise again, and a bright light was forming by its "mouth".

In her fear and panic, she did the only thing she could think of. She pulled the gate as hard as she could, slammed it in the face, and took off in a full sprint down the dark hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Michelle was gagging, vigorously trying to rub her skin raw with a cloth that Valdras handed her. He had accepted her phobia with staying clean by now, and kept a few extra rags with him at all times.

They had found another one of the infamous black books, and she had insisted on coming with. Her "insistence" came in the form of wrapping herself around him from behind when he opened the book.

Not that he minded that part, they had shared more than one night tangled up in each other's warm embrace. But those times where in a locked, and secured room…in a secured town with guards. Not in the realm of a malevolent daedric prince.

Valdras was furious, staring down at her. She was still beautiful, even dry heaving. Her long blonde hair was swept up in an intricate bun, and a few curls had managed to escape. She was not a Nord, although he had first met her on the back of a cart headed to Helgen for their timely executions. She had been wearing some sort of torn up foreign fabric, a line of black streaking her cheeks from her eyes.

The Imperial soldiers had found her off the side of the road in the woods, wandering around, ranting about being lost. They thought she was crazy, and the captain took one look at her, branding her a prostitute. They hit the poor girl over the head and loaded her in the cart.

She was around the height of a Breton, but looked nothing like the race. She was foreign, and completely unknown to magic. At first, he wanted nothing to do with her, especially after she clung to him on the way to Riverwood, and then to Whiterun. "Bad luck" was the impression he got, and he had more than enough of it already.

When he returned from his journey to the Throat of the World, she was desperately trying to eek out a living by working at the Drunken Huntsman, living in a dingy section of the attic upstairs. Elrindir had taken pity on her after he found her curled up, frozen, alone on his doorstep.

When she begged Valdras to take her to the college of Winterhold, he finally broke down and agreed.

They were unable to help her at the college, though. Her "home", appeared to be a separate, inaccessable realm.

She managed to stand up, wearily. He grabbed her arm to steady her.

"What in Azura's name were you thinking!"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked around. Her deep blue eyes scanning the room. "I was bored."

He sneered. She would get him killed eventually.

"If I had known I was going to get molested by an octopus on the way here, I would have reconsidered."

"This is extremely dangerous and not a joke, woman. I can't protect you here as well as I'd like." What was an octopus?

She smiled and hooked her arm in his. "I have faith."

He rolled his eyes, and started moving forward. Within the time she had been with him, he had trained her with basic combat technics. She had absolutely no endurance or skill in the beginning, and he often wondered how she had managed to stay alive as long as she had.

She had gained some in the past five years, but was still a novice at best. She took out her bow and readied and arrow as they crept through the nightmarish realm. Valdras was a spellsword by nature, a fire spell in his left hand, and a daedric sword in the right.

Hermaeus Mora had tricked him into a contract of ridding the daedric prince of his original champion, who no longer served a purpose; he chose to rebel, seeking his own return to dominating Solstheim once more.

Miraak was definitely a very real, and very dangerous threat. He was also the very first Dragonborn.

Michelle had thankfully already encountered a Lurker before, so he was saved her typical, panicked screaming. The Seeker proved a bit more difficult, and she had accidently stepped in a black pool, while trying to dodge one of its attacks. They took a small break while she recovered from hyperventilating.

His mother would not be happy when he brought this woman back with him to Blacklight. The thought put a smile on his face.

They continued through the narrow corridors, avoiding confrontations where they could. Eventually, they came across a large, open spaced room, with no walls. You could see the black sea of Apocrypha surrounding them, and large tendrils lazily reaching upwards towards the greenish black sky. In the middle was a large book on a platform. They quietly made their way towards the book, scanning the room for any slight movement.

Nothing.

The book, The Hidden Twilight, laid before them. He proceeded to decipher what information he could gather, and then wait for the book to teleport them back to their room at Raven Rock, which was the typical routine.

Suddenly Michelle went rigid, and increased pressure on his arm. He slowly turned around. Before them, on the other side of a large, black pool, was the First Dragonborn.

The eery mask glistened in the geen glow that permiated throughout the realm. He was the height of a typical Nord, but slightly less bulky. His specialty was brain, not brawn.

"Was my initial warning not enough, Laat Dovahkiin."

Valdras said nothing, he was busy thinking of a strategy to the million out comes that may come to pass in the next few seconds. Michelle, on the other hand, never was able to shut her mouth.

"Hey, jerk, get lost and go do something constructive, like get a life."

He should have bought that silence spell from Drevis.

An awkwardness arose around the trio.

"She is not of here. Her fate is not tied to ours, can you not feel it?"

Valdras' eyes grew an even darker red, and his right hand itched for his sword.

The pool, which had been stagnant, started to form small ripples...which morphed into erratic waves that splashed over the edges. A giant, sickly white hand, slowly etched its way through the viscous liquid.

Michelle screamed. The Lurker, which was almost fully materialized, was about the size of a mammoth. Its breath steamed, as the black soup dripped from its skin.

Miraak had already turned away from them, heading towards the hallway from which they had entered the room, obviously disinterested in the results of this confrontation. That pompous, milk drinking…

Valdras pulled Michelle to the side as the Lurker's massive hand crashed down where they were standing. He let a fire bolt go, and the beast roared. This was going to be a close fight.

The Lurker swiped in the air, making contact with Michelle and sending her, skidding, across the floor. It raised its giant arms up, readying a powerful attack. Valdras scrambled, yelling for Michelle to move. She laid there on her side, eyes wide, terrified and stunned. He readied a massive fire spell; he would knock it off balance.

Suddenly a loud sound ripped through the air, and felt like a knife stabbing his ears. He saw the Lurker's head mysteriously spasm to the side, and black liquid spray out the end, all over Michelle.

She blinked.

It crumpled up, slipping back into the pool it from where it had arose. He looked up, and on the opposite side of pedastal where the book was, stood a being, holding something in front of its face. A small stream of smoke coming out of the end.

It slowly lowered the item down. He could see it was a woman, but something was entirely wrong about her. She reminded him of-

"Michelle?"

Except she looked nothing like Michelle. She was about a foot taller, not as tall as a Nord, but maybe his height or a bit more. Her green eyes were intense, and she had dark brown hair, with gold stripes, in a loose braid running down her left shoulder. She was wearing clothes he had never seen; some sort of blue colored pant, with a shirt that was missing most of its material. Around her waste was another shirt, knotted by the sleeves.

The woman headed towards them.

"Michelle, Michelle! Oh my God, you're alive!"

He observed this woman with keen interest. She was obviously familiar with his… _companion_.

He really needed to go talk to Maramal in Riften.

Michelle finally blinked a few more times. She started to viciously try and wipe the black blood splattered on her face. She looked up at the woman.

"Andy! Oh my God, it's you!"

They embraced, the black oil staining the other woman's white garment.

"How did you get here? How long have you been here?"

Valdras stood up, throwing a panicked glance towards the hallway Miraak disappeared in. He grabbed Michelle by her arm, "we need to leave, **now** ".

The woman's green eyes glanced nervously at Michelle in a questioning manner, as Valdras pulled her off the floor.

He flipped to the section he needed to read to get them back home. He looked at the other woman with worried eyes.

"I can only take one at a time. I am also…unable to return to this very location."

Andy scanned the book. He was going to tell her not to waste her time. He was an accomplished mage in his own right, and even he had problems with some of these texts.

"This passage illustrates the formation of an exit, and the linguistic necessities to engage its creation. You two proceed, and I will follow."

Valdras simply stared.

"Shut up Andy, don't be ridiculous!" Michelle shouted in a panic. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Andy gave Valdras a knowing glance. She picked up her rifle, loaded another bullet in the chamber, and stepped back.

The last thing he remembered was holding a frantic, screaming Michelle as dark tendrils wrapped around them.


	3. Chapter 3

She lied.

She had no idea what the fuck the book said. She was still at the basic level of the language. Plus, she was pretty sure that book wasn't written in the same one she had been teaching herself out of pure boredom.

However, she once again broken down the facts:

1\. The "host" of this nightmare seemed inclined to keep her alive, as she had been there for a substantial amount of time, and she wasn't dead…yet.

2\. Elves existed. They also had red eyes.

3\. The elf Michelle was with, seemed well equipped to keep her alive, more than her gun could after she ran out bullets.

4\. Actually, maybe that was a bad assessment. She just had to blow that thing's head off before Michelle was flattened.

5\. Shit.

Well, at least her cousin was alive, and not _here_. A smile graced her lips at the relief of seeing the feisty blonde once more. Andy took a quick assessment of the behemoth of a book on the pedestal. Was it significant? Should she take it?

She went to close the cover, and it sprung back open, almost taking her hand off in the process.

Ok, possessed book stays.

She glanced around, and towards the hallway the masked dweller went. She had come from the opposite end, and she knew there was a good chance that Mr. Tentacles was not all too happy, and hot on her trail.

She looked behind her once more, then headed towards the dark hallway. Perhaps he left to an entirely different place, thinking them dead?

She smiled to herself again. She just met her first elf. She wondered if it was like Lord of the Rings, or Keebler. She had this vision of Michelle stuck in a tree, bitching to "Red Eyes" about running out of flour.

High maintenance.

Tucked in the shadows of the hallway, she strained her ears for the smallest noise. No footsteps…nothing.

She stopped. What was her goal? How was she going to translate the possessed book? This seemed to be her best option to leave, but finding the reference material in this library from hell…there was no map, no index…

She slowly slumped down against cold, metal wall of the hall. Some dingy books littered the ground, an eery green light casted about. Her eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and she could pick out some of the larger features.

It was straight out of a nightmare. The deafening silence, amplified each shuffle of a page in the distance. Other "things" were definitely _here_.

She propped her arms on her knees, the rifle, lazily slung over. She had no clue how to leave. She was alone again, to suffer an unknown fate. She gazed at the floor. Pieces of pages strewn about, but never moving. There was no wind here…it was a cold stagnation.

Oh well things could be worse.

Two metallic boots suddenly showed up at the spot she was staring intently at on the floor.

Well…shit.

[-]

* * *

Valdras wondered how he got in situations like this. He was the Dragonborn, for one. Successfully managing to defeat Alduin, and saving all of Tamriel.

He was also a decedent from the great house Telvanni. Mastering destruction magic on a level that would rival any of the remaining great wizards (not that they would admit it).

His mother still ran an extensive estate outside of Blacklight, and his sister was in the process of being courted by various nobles. He had dined with kings, jarls, even the emporer himself.

Yet here he was, listening to some crazy blonde, rant and rave, even blame him for something entirely out of his control, in a damp room, at the basement of a bar called "The Retching Netch".

He sighed.

"How could you leave her like that, when you knew it was a one way ticket?! You son of a bitch!"

Her cheeks had a red tint to them. It was attractive.

She gave him, what she called "the middle finger", then ripped the door open, tripped on the rug, called him some more obsinities, and slammed the door.

He put his head back on the pillow and stretched out. She'd get over it.

At the bar, Michelle was eyeballing some sujamma Geldis had stashed on the back counter. She needed a drink, bad. Geldis gave her a nod "what can I do for you ma'am?"

She gritted her teeth, and forced out, "Just water Geldis, thanks."

He gave her a knowing nod, then said "if I may suggest, I know a recipe my aunt used to give my sister. Totally safe for, you know…"

She smiled. It seemed everyone knew except Valdras, and that did not surprise her. He wasn't the most perceptive Dunmer.

"Sure Geldis, I appreciate it"

It took him about 5 minutes, but he came back with a milky looking liquid, that smelled of honey and lavender. She took one sip.

Her mouth had an orgasmed.

Maybe staying here for the duration of her pregnancy wasn't so bad. She didn't want to tell Valdras, because he would have sat her in Solitude, in that stuffy mansion, listening to those noble bitches yack about boring politics.

She was tempted to take over Radiant Raiment though. Those women would never have survived a part time spot at Macy's. Not to mention their sense of style was abhorred.

It was on her new bucket list anyways, since she was unceremoniously dumped on this planet. That had been 5 years ago though.

Her mind drifted back to Andy. She couldn't believe it when she saw her cousin, standing there with a gun.

Michelle wondered if she had been stuck in Hermaeus Mora's realm for 5 years, or if maybe time was delayed? The realm skip was never explained, and that kind of science talk went above her head anyways.

She looked down at her drink. They just left her there. She believed Valdras when he said that he assumed Andy could read the book (Andy could be convincing, from time to time), and that he'd have to go back from the beginning to retrace their steps, hopefully finding her again. It still didn't make it easier to swallow.

If she hadn't have come along, he would have been able to take Andy back…

He said he had to do some side work with Neloth (she hated that arrogant asshole), and build his dragonborn magic skill crap, for when he met Miraak again. Her stomach rumbled a bit. She hated thinking of it. She had almost lost her mind when he disappeared that one time fighting Alduin. That was 2 years ago.

Last year was the vampire lord. This year, some crazy narcissist.

God, she wouldn't be able to handle this relationship long term.

She glanced around the bar. Speaking of vampires, Serena was supposed to meet them out here, after she wrapped up some business on her own. She was thinking of getting herself cured, and had asked Michelle what her thoughts were on the matter. Michelle had told her to do what made her the most happy, and she'd be her friend regardless.

Inside, the inner Twilight fan was screaming "NO".

Right now she could use the advice and support of a friend that was physically there, and to comfort her over the family she just abandoned.

Tears were started to swell up. She looked up from her drink at Geldis "this is wonderful Geldis, I'm going to take this back with me and lay down for a bit." A sob squeaked out towards the end.

He nodded.

She got up and wandered back to her room, a few tears escaping.


	4. Chapter 4

Andy had stayed deathly quiet. Maybe if she acted deaf and stupid, he would go away and leave her to her own form of demise. She started to think of "the cage", and if Mr. Tentacles was still there, staring at the gate she slammed in its face, next to the pile of puke covered books.

She grinned.

"Do I amuse you?"

Oh...him. He, well, she assumed a "he" from the voice, seemed to carry some sort of thick accent. To her utter shock, he spoke English, even though all the literature in this shithole would give the opposite impression.

She glanced up. He was staring down at her, but the darkness of the hallway would only allow a slight glimmer of the mask. She could not make out his eyes, as they appeared to disappear into a black void.

She gripped her rifle a bit tighter. It was still loaded. All she had to do was move it up, _just enough_ , and she could blow this _thing_ off the face of the earth.

Or planet. Or library.

Whatever.

She saw him slowly lift his arm, and place his hand out in front of her face.

"Please, allow me to make a better…first impression."

 _Right…_

Did she have a choice though? He could have killed her a long, long time ago, no doubt. He obviously fancied keeping her alive to fill some sort of scientific inquisitiveness.

What type of maniac runs around with masks on? Did he think he was V for Vendetta?

It was probably best to appear reasonable, then she could stay alive long enough to decipher some more of that book. He obviously had zero problems navigating this joint. It was hopeful at best.

Oh hell, she's made worse decisions.

Grabbing his hand, and she was pulled up on her feet, fast. This guy had insane strength, she was not a light girl. She neared 5'11". Standing face to face, he had some good height on her. She suddenly felt tiny, like when she had to tutor one of the college football players school.

Ok, so he wasn't _that_ big.

He flicked the wrist of his other hand, and suddenly two Mr. Tentacles showed up. Apparently, there was more than one.

If he was trying to intimidate her…he was doing a _really_ good job.

She went to back up and his hand gripped hers a bit tighter.

"They will not harm you. Come."

A thought popped in her head. She had spent weeks, alone and isolated. Had he monitored her like a lab rat the entire time? Was he the one that placed the book on "her table"?

She wondered if he had also watched when she picked her nose, and wiped the snot all over the books.

She looked at him and let out a nervous laugh. Or at least the mask, with the eye holes of black, barreling down at her.

He let go of her hand, and proceeded to walk down the blackness of the hallway. Standing there for a minute, she contemplated running in the opposite direction, but the two Mr. Tentacles were quite convincing deterrents.

She gripped her rifle, and followed in step with her "host".

[-]

* * *

She lagged behind him a bit, in quiet observation.

He wore some sort of long, green or brown (maybe black?) robe that split at crotch level from the front and back side, granting unrestricted movement. The robe had some brass colored embroidery around the edges. There were a few bits of metal adorning his shoulders, but she really had no idea what it was supposed to represent. He sported this chunky metal emblem in the front.

They walked through various hallways, which interconnected at random points. Their original company had long disappeared into the distance some time ago, as her host apparently grew more assured that she would cause no trouble.

They reached a dead end, with some sort of feature sticking out of the ground. It was brighter on the end, like a nightmarish attempt at a budding plant. Touching it, it shrivled up, and a wall moved, forming a new pathway which continued to bend, contract, and expand. They proceeded forward.

Well, HE went forward. Andy stopped dead in her tracks.

There was no way in hell she was going on some free-floating, Harry Potter shit, across a sea of black liquid where that _thing_ she killed had crawled out of. This platform wasn't even formed. Where were the supports? This wasn't real, this could not exist.

He stopped and turned around, about ten or so feet ahead. She stood there, kind of looking down at her feet and through the gap into the never ending inky blackness below.

She was usually ok with heights, her job demanded her to climb buildings from time to time, hundreds of feet in the air.

In a JLG, with harnesses and straps, secured to stationary structures.

She was on the verge of a breakdown.

She quickly backed away from the edge and slammed against a wall, dropping her rifle and putting a hand on her chest, trying to normalize her breath.

Andy had a very mild asthma, which would only trigger during stressful events (or ferrets…she discovered this at a friend's house when she was eight). She started to feverishly open up the various pockets of her giant backpack, desperately looking for her inhaler.

Found it! A deep breath later, her lungs calmed down, and her breathing normalized. She was slumped over on her knees, staring at the floor.

Wet tears trickled down her face. A few dripped onto some old pages that littered the floor, soaking up the little wetness they could.

Goddamn it.

She heard the click of steps behind her, and closed her eyes. Maybe he would just kill her, put her out of her misery.

She felt a presence next to her, and a gloved hand put pressure on the bottom of her chin, turning her head to the right. She opened her eyes, a few more tears escaping in the process. She did not sniffle. She was not a natural crier. She preferred to internalize the emotional battles.

Big girls don't cry.

The horrific, tentacle mask, with empty eye sockets was at face level, and uncomfortably close.

"Perhaps we should take an alternative route."


	5. Chapter 5

The alternate route was a lot less magical, and much more stable.

She walked a little closer to her host. Not out of some newly discovered friendship, but more out of terror from the xenomorphs that had randomly started to sprout out of black pools, although they took little notice of her.

She watched as one slowly climbed out of inky water, much like the first one she blew the head off of. The black slime, slowly dripping off of its elongated extremities. She gripped her gun a little tighter.

Maybe HR Giger dreamt of this place?

Eventually, they came across a large room, with doors dotting the far sides. In the middle was a long, stone table, similar to the style of the one in "her corner". Goblets and dishes were scattered on the top. They were studded with gems. High backed, intricate chairs, lined each side, with the far end boasting a chair fit for a king.

It was very Indiana Jones-esque.

He led her to the left side, to the very first door. It opened on its own accord, low whines of metal cringing in the process.

Andy slowly walked past him, and through the doorway. Inside was, what appeared to be, a bedroom. Bookshelves littered the walls, with a few tables scattered about, a canopy bed of black against the far wall. There was a small table with three chairs near the entrance; it appeared to be a sitting area.

Perfect. She could have biscuits and tea, and talk about how wonderfully _mad_ everything was.

She turned around. He was gone, and the door had been shut.

Andy headed towards the bed at the back wall, slinging her backpack and rifle on the mattress. She lifted up the blanket that covered the top.

Straw. Joy.

She switch the safety on her gun. She needed to conserve what she could for when she made her grand getaway. Whenever that may be.

She rubbed her hands over her face. They smelled like musty books. She saw a small door off to the side, and opened it. Inside is what appeared to be a bath, with actual water. Steam hit her face. Nice, very nice.

The internal decor seemed to have a muted form of the grotesque decorum that the outside sported. There was a carpet by the bed, old and dingy, no more than threads. The books were a bit more orderly, and at least on the bookshelves, instead of shoved in piles all over.

The bed probably hadn't been slept on in two centuries. It had, what she thinks, were pillows at one time. The blanket was some sort of wool based material.

However, compared to sleeping on the floor in "the cage", this was definitely an upgrade.

She walked over and latched the door, testing it a few times to make sure it wouldn't open. Skipping to the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes, then hopped over the edge of the stone basin.

It felt…wonderful.

She found a bar of strange soap and started to scrub the best she could.

During her soak, she contemplated where the water came from. There were no obvious springs or rivers here, not counting whatever viscous black sea engulfed this horror. Perhaps the bath was an illusion, and she was soaking in a vat of a Prometheus special cocktail?

She shuddered, and quickly got out.

What she assumed were "towels", or what used to be, were stacked on a small table within the side room. Upon further inspection, she decided against touching them.

Air dying proved to be an enlightening experience. She watched the drops of water on her skin miraculously dissipate. Sticking out her arms, a slight tickle of hundreds of "bubble pops" assaulted her nervous system, eventually leaving her arms completely dry.

She blushed when this sensation reached other parts of her body.

Back at the bed, she rummaged through her bag for clothes. All she had was her pajamas, which consisted of a pair of spandex pants, and an oversized sweatshirt that said "Bitchin" on the front.

There was a tall dresser on the other wall, and she opened the drawers, expecting some form of clothing. They were full of books.

The nightstand?

Books.

Chest?

Books.

This guy needed a therapist.

She stared at the pile of her dirty clothes on the floor. She picked up her jeans, sniffed, and gagged a bit. She did stink after all. With jeans in hand she headed towards the basin that served as her bath. However, she noticed that all the water had evaporated, leaving this grey slim coating on the bottom.

Her stomach flipped.

She threw jeans back on the pile. She'd inquiry about laundry service later.


	6. Chapter 6

Michelle hated this guy. She spent most her time, trying to figure out how to push him over the hole that served as his front door.

His apprentice was annoying and weird. The old lady in one of the mushroom huts outside was a bitch. There was another guy that lived out there too. She hadn't met him, but she was positive he sucked too.

It was like the Smurfs on a bad acid trip.

They were all the same race that Valdras was, but he was far superior in looks. He was bent over a table, his red eyes intensely reading the notes scattered about. His black hair was tied back, which accented his high cheekbones. He had a prominent nose, but nothing like the huge honkers most of the Nords sported. A sharp chin, and a well defined mouth, with a bit of a pouty lower lip…

That she loved to chew on.

She was struggling in her pants. They had been taken out to about the maximum they could be, and felt like they were still suffocating her. She had hid it with a larger tunic and a wrap around the middle. She claimed she was "trying a new style", but it looked ridiculous.

Maternity clothing apparently didn't exist outside of mumus, and traveling with one of those was not realistic.

She hadn't broken the news to Valdras yet, either. They technically still weren't married, although he quit correcting people when they called her his wife. He was a sound sleeper, and never woke up during her bouts of morning sickness.

He was also a gentlemen as well, never commenting on her obvious weight gain, or protruding abdomen. It didn't seem to phase him at all.

She drummed her fingers on the desk. She was hoping this Miraak business would be quick, and they would have been back in Whiterun by now. She would have already told him the news, and they could have had a wedding.

Children out of wedlock…not sure that was kosher here. Not that anyone would question the slayer of Alduin, but still. She wanted some form of normalcy for her child.

Her thoughts drifted back to Andy. Was she still alive? Of course, Andy was smart. She had a knack for dealing with weirdos. One time Andy drug her to one of her nerd conventions…she couldn't even remember what it was about. Dr. Who, Star Trek, and geeks.

Still, the sooner they could get her out of there, the better.

A blast pulled her out of her thoughts, and she saw part of the wall light up with fire. Immediately, the Apprentice ran over there, trying to put it out with an ice spell.

She rolled her eyes.

Neloth was leaning over Valdras. "Have you heard from your mother recently. I have an interest in obtaining some materials needed for my research, and I have no doubt her connections could assist with that."

Neloth, the prime example of a social moron.

"I received a letter from her about 3 months ago. Give me a list of what you need, and I'll send it to her".

Mail took awhile here. Lots of wars, and…well honestly Michelle never understood how the postal service worked here. Since everything else was magic, she expected magic mailboxes.

His mother. She pictured a Dunmer version of Maggie Smith from the First Wives Club. She wondered if she would welcome a "foreigner" as her future daughter in law.

Actually, Valdras had never talked about marriage. He had mentioned about taking her to Blacklight, so she assumed it was part of the package. She put a hand on her stomach, and closed her eyes. Some mild cramping.

When she opened her eyes, she found Neloth looking at her.

He looked at where her hand was, then back up to her face.

Oh no.

Oh God no.

" _Interesting_."

He went back to looking at the notes on the table. She dodged that bullet, big time. She preferred not having this discussion in front of an audience, if possible.

A few hours later, and eight bathroom trips, Valdras was finally ready to leave. They were about half way back to Raven Rock, and by the abandoned farmhouse.

"I will need to make a journey to Skaal village soon".

Ugh. That icy shithole. As if Winterhold wasn't bad enough. Those people were so pious anyways. The chieftain's daughter, giving her these ridiculous looks because she didn't know "smithing", and slept with an dark elf.

So judgmental, for someone running around a glacier, where her only marriage prospects were either her first cousin or a bear.

Wait, "I"?

"You don't intend to bring me, I take it?"

"Not for this trip, especially after what happened last time."

He gave her a borderline pissed look. Oh, so that was still a touchy subject.

She just grunted to herself, and proceeded to walk faster, looking agitated. In reality she had to pee again, and was in desperate need of whatever magic drink Geldis had gotten her addicted to.

Behind her Valdras grinned.


	7. Chapter 7

Miraak quietly read in a room he had used as a study, centuries ago. It was located to the right of the main dining hall, straight across from _her_ room. The new resident his "Lord" had let in was intriguing, to say the least.

Putting the book down, he decided she had had more than enough time to collect herself. He was anxious for unknown knowledge, a feeling that had died in him a millenia ago. He had little doubt that Hermaeus Mora's interest in her was of a similar notion.

However, the motivations of Daedric Princes were always unknown. Even after four thousand years, he was no closer to understanding them. Whether the Lord of the realm felt the need to keep her alive, or kill her, was not his choice.

He would make the most of the opportunity presented before him.

Only after witnessing the power of her strange weapon, did he decide to move her to a more accommodating location. It was an attempt to win her trust. She was not of this realm; the knowledge she possessed could potentially prove invaluable.

He was surprised when he stumbled across her some time ago, locked in a room with one of the other local denizens. He would study her from the shadows, quietly observing her erratic behaviors. While she spoke an interesting dialect of Cyrodilic, it appeared that she was illiterate. He remembered casting a sleep spell on her, then placing a child's alphabet book by her head. To his satisfaction, she proceeded through the tedious task of learning to read.

He noticed that the latch had been engaged. A mild form of amusement graced his masked face. With a wave of his hand, the lock disengaged, as he proceeded forward. He had little patience for trifling notions of privacy. The many eyes of his master were always open. The sooner she accepted this, the better.

Green eyes immediately locked on him.

She was quite fetching. Long brown hair, with stripes of gold, braided to the side. Her facial features were softer, with a pink tint to her cheeks and nose. She was not as tall as a Nord female, but bolstered a taller stature than most races. Her features were completely exotic, and she permiated an other worldly feel.

She was also completely vacant of mana, much like the Last Dragonborn's mate. He had sensed the child within her womb, but had doubted that his dim witted foe knew. It was interesting, none the less. The soul of a dovah radiated from the sleeping infant.

There were two explanations to this: either the child was fated to die, or the presence of his mate was rewriting Fate.

Perhaps these fate-less individuals were an attempt by Hermaeus Mora to operate outside the boundaries of the Elder Scrolls?

Or, perhaps they were a means to his own freedom.

His thoughts returned to the subject of his current interests. She remained still, standing tall, but not with an ignorant sense of pride as most of the native, barbaric swine possessed. She watched him with calculated precision.

The dragon growled.

He walked to a nearby chair and proceeded to casually situate himself, facing her, crossed his legs, nonchalantly.

Andy kept an intense stare. His obvious disregard for privacy or manners did not come as a shock.

It still pissed her off.

She turned her back to him, busy fumbling with the items scattered across the bed. Her first goal was to create a sort of quick and crude map, then detail it further as she explored.

If she could plot a pathway back to the possessed book, it would definitely be a bonus.

She picked up her notebook and shoved a flashlight in her front sweater pocket. She assessed her immediate threat level to be "green". During her time here, she had never been physically been attacked. Her own fears made it out to be worse. She, once again, did a mental checklist:

1\. She was alive.

2\. She was no longer in a caged room.

3\. Her cousin was alive, and hopefully out of danger.

4\. There was at least one other "person" here.

Albeit, he was probably best avoided, as he seemed slightly to mostly disturbed. Hence the mask.

By the foot of the bed was a collection of various, primitive styled boots, and she had found a beige colored pair of knee length lace-ups (it seemed that zippers not been invented yet). A soft fur lined the insides, and amazingly the leather soles provided decent support. She eyeballed her ooze covered hiking boots in the corner.

A misplaced step.

His silence did not distract her from her current thoughts or objectives; she had dealt with a lot of rude assholes in her time. An arrogance rolled off him. He, no doubt, thought of her as some sort of Neanderthal or missing link.

Reminded her of her boss.

Heading out the door, she opened her notebook and drew a square connected to a larger square, marking a false North/South. She had beat Zelda many times as a kid. This would be a piece of cake.

The room to her left was locked. She marked a line, then made an "x". Across the giant "dining hall", another locked door. The door directly opposite of her room, swung open.

It appeared to be a primitive study, of sorts, and was…surprisingly more organized than anything she had seen prior. Books were neatly placed on shelves; a desk with a quill and ink pot was pushed against the far wall, with some notes scattered about.

There was a skull on an odd looking table, with a primitive chemistry set. Some glowing, green liquid pooled in the inner recesses of the table. A few glass bottles lined a small upper shelf.

She bent over and tapped the skull with her pencil. Definitely not plastic.

Current threat level: orange.

She moved on to the parchment notes on the desk. The markings were very precise and clear, and looked to be more like an ancient cuneiform. It was not the language she remembered glossing over in the possessed book.

Damn.

Not enough of the symbols repeated themselves on the parchment; her skills with translation were limited at best. She copied a few lines in her notebook; perhaps it would come in handy later.

Turning around she almost ran straight into the masked man in the doorway. His massive form blocking any attempts to skirt around. An awkward couple of steps backwards caused the back of her legs to catch an edge, and she stumbled into a chair. To play it off as intentional, she proceeded to busy herself with copying more of the peculiar language.

Hopefully he'll go away.

A shadow sat itself in the chair next to hers. Gloved hands, with a bizarre looking metal inlays, came into her peripheral view.

Apparently not.

She stopped writing, and slowly looked up.

The mask was about an inch or two from her face. A thick, deep accent rumbled:

"Why are you here."


	8. Chapter 8

"So let me get this straight: there is some "formless" slime ball, floating around up there, which pulled me through a trans-dimensional portal, dumping me into a "realm" that doesn't exist in the "mortal realm", but may, or may not be, connected to said "realm", of which you're originally from?"

She needed a cigarette. She had never used so many air quotes in her life.

Their conversation had revealed that she was not only screwed, but _majorly_ screwed. Her "host", was not in charge. He was stuck here too.

Or, at least he claimed to be.

He also said he was thousands of years old, which seemed like far-fetched bullshit, much more than the slime ball deity. However, she attributed his odd behaviors and claims to the side effect of long-term isolation.

"Has anyone ever managed to escape?"

Please say yes, please say yes…

"No".

She flicked the origami football, and made a touchdown in the skull's mouth. A couple of other triangles were littered across the floor.

"But there may exist a…solution".

Her eyebrows raised with an inquisitive glance.

"Your relative shares company with someone that offers an alternative to my fate."

The general vibe had taken a strange turn. She shifted uncomfortably, folding a new piece of parchment in half.

Was this shit expensive?

"When I kill him, I will become the Last Dragonborn. The Last Dragonborn is not bound to the shackles of Hermaeus Mora, as stated by Fate. I will be free to return into the flesh, to Nirn, once more gaining my rightful place as ruler."

Definitely bat shit crazy.

She would give him the benefit of the doubt though. She reminded herself that he most likely had extensive, psychological damage.

"Who told you that? The squiggly slime ball in the sky?" She motioned upwards in a circle. "I would question the validity of such 'facts', before making hasty decisions."

She let that comment sink in for a bit, gauging any immediate negative reactions. He appeared calm. She continued.

"Besides, like you said, Michelle and I are outside of your planet's, err…'realm's', rules and regulations. We're", she pointed at a stack of books on the table, "off the books."

She snorted, proud of her spur of the moment pun.

"Obviously 'fate' isn't as permanent as you initially thought."

She made another crease; she was getting pretty good and making these.

She looked over. Something had changed. The vibe at the table had gotten very, very dark. His posture seemed more rigid, as though a fury was building fast, soon to boil over.

Her gut feeling was telling her to bail…fast.

Current threat level: **red** _._

Notebook in hand, she bolted towards the door.

A large hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her backwards. A monster glared down…the black voids of the eye sockets, almost seeming to glow a dull orange.

She blinked. Maybe that was her imagination.

"You would do best to remember your place, _woman_."

Woman? Who in the hell did he…

"You are at my mercy; you will provide me with the information I seek, and do what I tell you to. Should you comply, I _may_ spare your pathetic life."

He felt a sharp pain blossom on the top of his left foot. It was followed by an intense pain in his groin, which quickly spread. He keeled over, coughing, and felt a hard jab in the back of his skull. He fell the rest of the way to the floor.

Andy's bullshit bucket was past full. She wasn't about to be treated like some fucking slave to a maniac. She sprinted past the crumpled up form, straight into her bedroom…skidding across the floor. She backed up and slammed her body against the door, switching the deadbolt.

Shit, locks were useless here.

She tilted one of the chairs on its legs, and hooked the it under the door handle. It was a pathetic attempt to brace the door, but she had limited options. She jumped over the bed, snatched her Henry, and switched off the safety.

She focused through the eyesight. She wished she had a bigger gun. Like a rocket launcher.

Silence.

A few minutes passed. Perhaps he got the memo-

 **FUS RO DAH**

The door shattered, and she felt herself propelled backwards, slamming her head against a sharp object behind her. The gun misfired, and a large chunk of ceiling came crashing down, exposing a thick fog of greenish black smoke above.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt a wetness pour down her neck. She tried steadying herself on a solid surface, but found her knees weak, and tumbled to the floor instead. She felt the back of her head; her fingers slid inside a large gash.

Her vision went black.


	9. Chapter 9

A month had gone by since Valdras left for Skaal Village. Michelle found herself pacing their room at the inn, wringing her hands. Her belly had become much more noticeable. It wasn't unusual for him to be gone this amount of time.

It was just unusual that her cousin was trapped with a wacko, and she was over 5 months pregnant.

A soft rapt came in the door. Probably Geldis again. He had taken it upon himself to look out for her since Valdras was gone. Her pregnancy had not been very difficult, but it wasn't easy either.

She opened the door. A cloaked woman stood on the other end, underneath she could make out the telltale signs of royal stitching.

"Serena!"

She embraced her friend, tears starting to fall.

A hand put soothing pressure on the back of her head. "I told you I would come."

Michelle pulled back, her tear tracks littered her cheeks. Serena gave her a toothy smile, red eyes glowed underneath the hood.

Ah, so she decided to remain a vampire after all.

The red eyes looked down, and narrowed. Serena put her hand on Michelle's swollen abdomen.

Michelle pulled her into the room and shut the door. Serena removed her cloak. The public would always be leery if vampires, even if she was part of the Dawnguard's ranks. She had to be careful not expose herself, even in remote areas, such as Raven Rock.

She eyed Michelle, putting her hands on her waist. "How far along?"

"A little over 5 months." Michelle sat down, putting both her hands on her stomach. A frown crossed her face.

Serena looked at the bed, and the bags in the corner.

"Where is Valdras?"

[-]

Valdras was kneeling in the snow, holding up Frea, as she wept openly over her father's mutilated corpse.

Blood mixed with black mucous seeped out of craters that littered his body. A look of agony etched into his face, eyes wide open, in terror.

The Hermaeus Mora had got what he wanted. He now expected to play him as a pawn against Miraak, reaping the benefits of the winner.

It was all a game. Lives had no meaning; they were _worthless_. To be discarded, once they served their purpose.

He thought back to Michelle. Could he keep risking her life, dragging her along on suicide missions, dealing with malevolent beings who cared nothing of their existence?

Would this be her one day, crying over his corpse.

Or the other way around?

His eyes darkened.


	10. Chapter 10

Andy dug her feet in the sand, basking in the embracing warmth of the sun.

Her little niece and nephew were building sand castles by the shore, giggling and splashing each other, as the waves lazily crashed against the shore line.

She often would take the kids to this private beach, giving her brother and sister in law some much needed alone time. One of her past coworkers, Jennifer, had lucked out and married a rich guy from New York. They owned a beach house about 40 miles from Myrtle Beach, and would only stay there a few weeks of the year.

"Y'all just come by anytime, bring those adorable little angels."

Andy snorted. Those kids were more like Satan's spawn.

She felt a twinge in the back of her head. Probably her position. She adjusted the beach towel and sand underneath.

The waves made a hypnotic rhythm. She sighed, content.

It was nice and sunny outside. But…it seemed…bright. A little irritating. She tried squinting her eyes. Where were her glasses?

Reaching over, she felt him next to her. Ah, maybe he brought them. She entwined her fingers with his, rolling a bit to her side to face him. She couldn't see much, because of the light, but she started to absent mindedly run her fingers in lazy circles on his chest; working her way up his neck, then to the stubble that ran along his jawbone.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. The scales tickling her lips.

She smiled, content.

Hmm. When had she started to date again? She couldn't seem to remember...

Hold on.

 **Scales**?

She sprung forward, being stopped a few inches up. The past memory of Jennifer's beach house quickly disappearing, as panic and confusion took over.

Her vision was blurry. Why was it so dark? Where was she?

She was gripping onto something soft, but sturdy, her arms clinging for dear life, as she struggled to gather her bearings.

She couldn't stop shaking. Her stomach churned. Her lungs burned. She couldn't breathe.

A strong arm wrapped itself around her torso, while a large hand cradled the back of her head. Her nerves started to settle, breathing normalized, and she managed to loosen her grip on whatever was in front of her.

She felt a warm sensation on the back of her head, and it seemed brighter, although her vision was still unclear.

She felt safe though, and before long she was drifting into a peaceful sleep.

[-]

He was kneeling next to her on the hard floor, pouring healing magic into the hole in her head. She had flown directly into the edge a tall table behind her. The impact had also managed to shattered her skull.

Blood was everywhere. His robes were drenched with it. Not the first time, although this situation was quite different.

He always left them to die.

Once he managed to reform the skull, he lifted her up, placing her on the bed. Her breathing was rapid; her body would go into shock soon. He took his mask off, casting it to the side so he could get a better look at the injury.

The mask mostly amplified his offensive powers, and did little in regards to restoration. He was no novice though, and had spent thousands of years perfecting the various disciplines of all magic.

Her face returned some of its color. She was recovering from the massive amount of blood loss. She would live.

Her eyes were fluttering, rapidly. He tilted her head and parted some blood clotted hair aside. She would no doubt have a scar, but it was starting to heal nicely. His hand lit up again, casting some more restoration magic. Using too much had adverse effects on the mind of the receiver. The body still needed its own time to cope with trauma.

Her strange tunic was soaked with her life force, and needed to be removed. He slowly lifted her torso, and pulled the garment up, easing her limbs out, and eventually, ever so carefully, over her head.

He tossed it on the floor, in a wet splash. It was ruined.

He pulled the blanket around her bare torso. She was wearing an odd form of binding. Her breasts were larger than the normal female, and she had no defined muscle on her arms. The foreign material of her trousers hugged a generous set of hips, with a small pouch adorning her stomach.

Nobility, perhaps.

On her left side, he noticed a sizable scar that protruded from the top of her trouser band, disappearing under the strange fabric. It reminded him of the marks left from the embalming process. She had obviously been cut open before, and lived.

He caught a glimpse of a marking on her back. Turning her to the side, he saw a gold dragon, coiled around an hourglass, covering her lower back.

Akatosh.

She groaned. He steadied her movements. A flash of light sparked, as he casted a calming spell.

She reached out, and curled her hand around his.

He froze.

Delicate fingers ran their way up his robe, until they stopped to trace light lines along his jaw.

She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Her eyes were barely open, mostly glazed. A half smile formed on her lips. Dried blood covered most her face, and dark circles were forming around her eye sockets. He gently moved her back into a flat position.

Green eyes sprung wide open, pupils dialated, as she attempted to sit up, smacking into him. Hands gripped his neck and shoulders in desperation.

She was trembling, struggling to breathe. It was the physical effects such an injury, but ampliphied by the lung disease she possessed. He put an arm around her back, and held her head with the other, casting some more calming spells.

Miraak was, in fact, quite arrogant, but it was justified. He was never wrong, he never made mistakes.

But perhaps…he had been too hasty. He could not remember a single point in his existence where some unknown commoner had the audacity to question his wisdom.

And then physically strike him.

It was…infuriating. Death was the only punishment for such a trespass.

And yet, here she laid, alive, and by his own choice. Something surfaced, something he had never felt before.

Guilt.


	11. Chapter 11

The Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate did not typically welcome anomalies.

The mate of the Last Dragonborn was, in fact, known to him, but her potential fates could be manipulated later, once the Dunmer was bound to him.

She also appeared to be dim-witted. He did not think that much, if any, knowledge could be extracted from her small mind.

Unfortunate.

The strings of fate remained mostly in place; minor disruptions were observed from her presence. Some futures were still unknown to him, which was bothersome, but not enough to eliminate the source.

Azura thought herself wise. She had crossed to a realm unknown to him, taking this creature as a companion for her new champion.

A champion which would be _his_ , as he was the more powerful Prince.

His many eyes had kept a vigilant watch upon the ripple in the void where the female had materialized, keenly interested in any future disruptions.

His patience paid off. A gold light permeated the void, and a shape formed in Mundus. His never ending extremities ensnarled the figure, dragging it to Apocrypha.

He deposited it in one of the infinite rooms of his realm. It was of man, not mer, but not any of the known or extinct races, much like the Last Dragonborn's mate. Strange markings adorned the cloth garments. A pack made of an unknown material housed even more foreign items.

He was intrigued. This paled in comparison to his current schemes. What secrets would this being hold? It would only be his to know.

Tendrils reached down, wrapping around the body on the floor, easing any entrance into its mind…

Extreme pain flashed through him. His extremities writhed, and they quickly withdrew. A great eye glared down at the figure.

It was marked. He could do nothing. The God of Time had claimed it.

Azura was always making bargains with those pitiful excuses for "Gods". They dared taunt their superiority, as though the Daedric Lord of Fate and Knowledge was not stronger.

A malevolent groan echoed in the sky, as a few strings of fate unraveled.

[-]

The Sands of Time continued to flow. He rarely interfered with the denizens of Nirn, although he loved them, none the less. His choice had been made, his influence, a shred of what it once was…granting part of himself to the creation of this reality within Mundus.

It was how it should be.

Some had refused to accept this, and in a moment of grand betrayal and fear, abandoned the forge of creation, instead selfishly retreating back into their false realms of Oblivion.

The aftermath if that moment was unforgivable.

Akatosh did not possess hatred. He was not the God of forgiveness, nor mercy, but he understood that things may come to be, whether they be birthed from benevolence or malice.

Time moved forward.

Sadness. He did possess that.

His firstborn had enslaved the men of Nirn…creating a false religion of worship and reverence. The lessons of love and respect for all life, lost.

He had tried to correct his mistake, granting a small portion of the Dragon's soul, his soul, in that of a man. The First Dragonborn came forth from humble origins.

Once again, disappointment. While the Dragonborn set forth the notion of rebellion within men, he failed his destiny to destroy Alduin. Instead, a twisted and selfish, power hungry being emerged, to meet a deserved death in the end.

Death did not come. The Prince of Knowledge and Fate had seduced his hybrid child, wooing him with a promise of power and immortality. In that moment, the First Dragonborn had chosen his punishment.

Yet, he still held pity…he held hope. He could not abandon one of his own so easily. Time continued, and no doubt, this punishment would be enduring. The manipulations of Hermaeus Mora are great, but the soul of the Dragon burns greater yet.

He would tip the scales, once more, as he had for Azura.

A rip in dimensions formed, pulling forth the being who he would empower to save this child from his torment. Fate would change; Time would not.

It was done.


	12. Chapter 12

Andy felt like shit.

When she was twenty, she had been in a car accident with her roommate. A drunk kid sped through a red light and impacted the driver's side of Danielle's Ford Taurus. Andy was in the backseat at the time.

She remembered waking up in the hospital; her mom holding her hand, dark circles around her bloodshot eyes. They had put in so many pins, screws, and bars that she would forever cause metal detectors to light up like a Christmas tree.

This felt worse.

She's pretty sure she was on serious morphine at the time, though.

Fingers and toes wiggled. She wasn't paralyzed. The room was dark and she was on a bed. Was she in the hospital? She hit her head, right?

She rolled her head to the left. That hurt. That hurt _really bad_.

She needed more morphine. She felt around for the nurse's call button.

Where the fuck was it? Must have fallen off the bed. They'd make their rounds soon, she figured.

Now, what was she doing? She blinked a few times, taking in the darkness of her hospital room. It seemed a little creepy. She kept waiting for the beep of her heart monitor.

Silence.

A figure was sitting off to her left. Tall and slightly imposing. Dad.

She smiled and held out her hand.

"I'm ok Daddy," her southern accent quite prevalent.

Her vision started to get gradually clearer. She looked at her arm and saw no IV ports. How odd. The figure moved closer.

Green eyes widened. That wasn't her Dad.

Shapes started to take form, and then it hit her like a dump truck: she was still stuck in this nightmarish hell hole, albeit, a location she had never been before. Grotesque designs dotted the bizarre items and walls around her.

It appeared to be a large bedroom of sorts, much more lavish than the previous one.

She glanced up at the "man". He had some sort of…deformity on his left face. It was, like, he was turning into something. A lizard?

A reptilian eye stared back.

Holyshit, it _was_ Prometheus. The Aliens, the black goo. Oh…my…God. She had touched the crap! Was she starting to turn?

She tried to frantically sit up, touching her arms, her face. The lizard man held her back down.

"Calm yourself."

That voice.

Oh.

Well that explains the mask.

Her voice creaked, "what happened, where am I?"

He kept pressure on her shoulders, and leaned closer, looking over her face, tilting her head to the side.

Andy tried to look at the "normal" eye as much as possible, but she found herself frequently looking back to the other one.

His right side was normal. He was also quite attractive, in that, Viking type of way. Long, dark blonde hair swung forward, highlighting prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw. His blue "eye" was a gorgeous color.

The other side, well…it was very…lizard'ish. The black, scaled skin poked through from his jaw, covering his entire cheek, over his eye, and receding into his forehead.

Holyshit. She really needed to stop staring.

"You damaged your head."

Hmm, the memory was hazy. She instinctively felt behind her head, only to find a tiny scar.

She swore she remembered a hole.

"How much blood did I lose?"

"Most of it."

Andy thought for a bit. "Then how am I not dead?" Enough blood loss is instant death. There was no blood bank here. She doubted that the lizard man knew about transfusions.

"Basic restoration magic."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised, an incredulous look. What the fuck was "restoration magic"?

A soft glow started to emanate from his hand. He brought it towards her face, and she immediately jerked back.

No…fucking…way.

"Trust me."

Nope.

He put his hand on the back of her head. Suddenly, she felt a soothing, warm sensation. Her eyes fluttered a bit. Way better than morphine. Then it stopped.

"Too much will have an adverse effect."

No, I don't think so, lizard man. I require much more high inducing feel goods.

He casually sat back down. This guy exuberated a confidence she wasn't sure she had ever seen before.

Kind of a turn on.

She was most definitely high.

"Where did you get the marking on your back."

Marking…marking? Her hip surgery? Her eyebrows scrunched together.

"Hand me a mirror." She waved her hand around, making a grabbing motion.

A hard, smooth item fit in her palm. It looked like something from ancient antiquity, and she briefly wondered if she would get lead poisoning from touching it. She groggily rolled to her side, and stretched the mirror out until her back came into view.

It was a tattoo of a gold dragon, curled around an hourglass. It took up about half her back.

And she was also naked.

She tossed the mirror on the ground. This was just fucked up beyond belief.

She was done. She quit.

Rolling over on her stomach, she let out a pathetic groan in the blanket. She snapped her fingers, speaking into the cloth underneath, "more magical glow shit, and if you fry my brain in the process, even better."


	13. Chapter 13

Valdras had managed to keep his presence known to a minimum. Moving in the shadows, he took down the Seekers and Lurkers, one at a time.

On his back was a dragonbone bow, which had proven deadly and effective. He silently gave thanks to Azura. He had tripped over it in an abandoned ruin outside of Morthal, and had a feeling her hand was involved.

Besting Sahrotaar had proven difficult, and more than once did he almost meet his timely death. The great beast landed on a large platform with a loud thud. He slid off the neck, and walked cautiously towards the center.

Miraak stood, legs slightly spread, his sword handle balanced by the palm of his hands.

"And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha."

The last shouts proved to be incredibly difficult to find. He bested not one, but two dragon priests, warlords in their own right.

"Fate decreed that you had to die, so that I could win my freedom…"

The black pool between them rippled. A mass of eyes formed above their heads. The Daedric Prince was watching.

Valdras looked up, his face full of disgust. He refused to be a pawn of this pathetic excuse for a God. He looked back to Miraak.

"I wish not to fight you, dragon priest. I refuse to be a pawn of Hermaeus Mora."

Hermaeus Mora focused on the two intently. He knew how this would end. His tendrils wiggled in anticipation. Soon he would claim the First, then enslave the Last. Soon he would be uncontested as the most powerful Prince.

"I agree."

A string of Fate snapped. The fabric was unraveling, reforming. The Daedric Lord startled. A furious eye glared down on the two dissidents.

He would have what was rightfully his!

Sahrotaar roared, as fire spread upwards towards the sky. The dragon knew his life was forfeit, but he would not willingly lay down for this monstrosity that dared call itself a Lord. He had been enslaved long enough.

Tendrils shot out, wrapping around his long neck. A loud snap echoed above the mortal men. A green sword flashed, and black blood spewed across the platform, relieving pressure on his neck. Miraak shouted, an ethereal form split from his body, tackling other tendrils sprouting from all around.

Sahrotaar's breathing was more erratic. He was dying, the demon had broken his neck.

He felt a warm, soft touch on his head. A figure formed in his blurry vision. It was a woman. She knelt down, flashing a bright light in his eye. He felt a small amount of wetness in his mouth, and rubbing on his throat; she was trying to get him to swallow a liquid.

Foolish human. He choked a laugh. The notion was sweet, but wasted. Death was claiming him. His soul would be torn from him shortly, going to either of the Dragonborns. He looked at her face, green eyes locked with his.

As his last breath was taken, he watched as her eyes changed. Specs of gold started to shine through, and he beheld an image of something he had long forgotten…something he never thought he would see again.

His father.

A warm light cascaded around Andy, twirling around her. It was utter fucking chaos. She had talked Miraak (she finally asked him what his name was; figured she deserved to know that much from a guy that had seen her stark naked) into taking her to this final showdown.

Over the past few weeks his attitude had mellowed some. He was still arrogant as hell, but "open" to more ideas.

And by open, she simply did not stand in front of him during arguments anymore.

She also adamantly refused to accept bullshit like pre-determined fate. It was simply the slime ball manipulating people. He finally warmed up to the concept of "brain-washing".

Freud would have a field day here.

The warm sensation was overwhelming, she almost couldn't breathe. She had desperately tried to save their only means of transportation. In her mind, she presumed they could fly around and eventually find an edge to this realm, or a weak point.

It was a theory, but it didn't seem unreasonable, considering where she had been living the past two months.

Besides, it was a platform in the middle of nowhere.

The glow disappeared. She looked to the giant dragon…thing. It was dead. The tongue had fallen out of it's deformed mouth, with one black eye facing up, blankly gazing at her.

She felt…pity.

A slimy tentacle shot out towards her. She readied her gun and fired. It flung backwards, black oil spring everywhere. A sharp howl was heard above her head.

She looked up. Her jaw dropped.

Oh…this was fucked. _They were fucked_.

She ran towards the red eyed elf, firing another shot at a big slimy tentacle behind him.

"How the fuck do we get out of here?!"

His hand lit up, and casted a faded ball of purple light towards the ground. Something started to form from the spot. A head, body, legs? A fire chick with a bikini?

You have got to be kidding me.

The oversexualized thing twirled, and an intense wave of fire shot out from its hands, disintegrating a tentacle.

Ok, she was impressed.

She saw Miraak keeled over, blood pooling on the floor. Running over, she skidding on her knees in front of him, lifting up his sagging head.

His chest had a hole in it.

She popped the cork on the red bottle (he had insisted she bring them, they were some sort of healing elixir), lifting the mask up enough to shove it in his mouth. He choked, and she forced his head back even more.

The hole started to slowly fill in, materializing flesh.

Incredible.

The elf was losing ground. She hooked her arms under Miraak and used all her strength to drag him by the shoulders, up a few stairs, placing their backs to a large, curved stone wall with that cuneiform writing on it. She saw the elf slowly follow in suit ahead of her, casting fire balls and slashing with a wicked looking black sword.

The fire chick had been flattened by a giant tentacle. exploding a few seconds after impact. Another tentacle whipped the elf in the front, which sent him flying back, crashing into the stone wall next to her.

She cocked the lever and loaded the chamber again. Stepping in front of the beaten men, she aimed it straight at the bubbling mass of eyeballs in the sky.

With her rabbit shooter.

Tendrils slithered towards the three, slowly encroaching on each step. The floor looked like it was alive.

"You thought you could outwit the Daedric Lord of Knowledge and Fate, mortal?"

Well, when you put it that way, yes.

"Fateless one, your patron foolishly put faith in a mortal, only to once again experience failure."

Patron? Once again?

She heard what sounded like an electric buzz behind her, and shuffle of feet. Maybe the elf had recovered.

"No, no! You are MINE!"

A giant tentacle ushered forth, and she pulled the trigger, aiming for the biggest eye she saw. A scream tore through the air, as the eye quickly disappeared. She lowered her rifle, ready to embrace death, once again.

As a black tower of wiggling slime fell towards her, she closed her eyes.

And was yanked backwards.


	14. Chapter 14

Hot tears streamed down Michelle's cheeks, as she clutched Valdras. He had taken a beating; cuts and bruises covered his body. She held his face in her hands, desperately kissing him.

They were in Neloth's tower. The old wizard had a theory of creating interconnecting portals, powered by blood, to cicumvent the "entrance" to the Oblivion realms. A stationary power could be constructed within the mortal realm, then connect to the object that the blood shared essence with.

It was Serena's idea to go to Neloth. She seemed to have good sense of judgement, and figured if anyone could help bring Valdras back, a master Telvanni wizard could. Unfortunately, when he asked Michelle if he could withdraw some of her child's blood, she threw a chair at him. Eventually, she agreed.

Valdras groaned. He was in pain, but relieved. It was a near miss. Escaping the Daedra was no small feat. He expected this wasn't the last he would hear from Hermaeus Mora.

He looked down at Michelle. She looked a wreck. Eyes were tear stained, her cheeks pink, lips swollen. She chewed her bottom lip when stressed.

He felt a twinge in his groin.

Looking down, he froze. She was wearing a tunic, white and laced on the sides. It slowly rounded out in the shape of a little bump.

Was she…pregnant?

She seemed to have read his mind. Grabbing his hand, she put it on her swollen abdomen. He looked at his hand, then slowly up to her eyes.

The biggest, shit eating grin crossed his face.

Serena rolled her eyes, and turned around to give them a little privacy. Across the room were two people she had never seen before. A tall Nord, wearing some sort of dragon priest armor and mask. It was obviously influenced by Hermaeus Mora. He had his hand over his chest, wheezing.

Sprawled out in front of him, laying on her side, was some sort of human woman. She groaned, slipping her bizarre pack off, and rolled on her back, spreading her arms and legs out in a loud 'thud'.

Bright green eyes stared at the ceiling.

Serena then heard:

"One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer."

[-]

This, literally, was…a fucked up version of Alice in Wonderland.

Andy turned around one last time to see the giant, weird mushroom village disappear on the horizon.

Around her shoulder was Miraak, leaning heavily on her for support. She was no doctor, but she was pretty sure he should have been on bed rest for awhile...like, months. However, he was adament on traveling with their merry little band.

The mask was in her bag. He had thrown it across the room the day before, smashing some vases that the old man in the tower owned, casting a murderous glare at all of them.

She'd hold onto it for him for awhile, until he calmed down.

He had a hood covering most of his face. A heavy cloak draped over the rest of his outfit.

Sweat started to collect on her brow. She wasn't sure how long she could keep this up before her heart exploded.

She felt a little relief in weight, and saw the vampire had taken his right arm in an attempt to "share the load".

Andy smiled.

[-]

Raven Rock was the medieval, fantasy equivalent of some one horse town that had one flashing yellow light. The "houses" were upside down crab-like shells; except the crab was the size of a double wide trailer.

It made her shutter.

They were in an underground expanse that was carved out from underneath a giant crab shell. More people that looked like Valdras (he was what they called "Dunmer", and yes, they were elves) occupied the various nooks and crannies.

Andy had found a nook of her own, tucked in the shadows. She had a clay cup in her hand, sipping on some form of local drink special called "Cliff Racer".

It packed a punch.

A hooded figure sat next to her. She turned and smiled where their face would normally be.

"Get tired of hearing our neighbors as well?"

Andy had been woken up to the sound of a bed banging into the wall her head was inconveniently next to. It was followed by loud moans and muffled screams.

She really didn't want, or need, to hear her cousin have sex.

Miraak grabbed a wine bottle at the table, and proceeded to chug the entirety of its contents.

He was obviously still trying to cope with his new found mortality.

Since "the accident", as she called it, they had actually started to form a fast friendship...well, more like a civil relationship. His "dragon features" were no longer as noteceable to her. On the journey from the mushroom village, she had received a cliffs notes version of Dragons and Dragonborns, and a very harsh correction to her calling it "a lizard's eye".

In general, she felt sorry for him. He seemed to have a bad wrap, bearing the brunt of a lot of hatred, although he did little to deserve it. Was he an arrogant asshole with anger management problems? Yes. Did he do some horrible shit thousands of years ago? Meh, _maybe_.

Killing dragons is pretty bad ass though.

People make horrible decisions all the time, though. It is part of human nature. Complete isolation was a very cruel punishment, and she was impressed that he was even remotely sane.

Serena sat down at on her other side. Obviously she wasn't as hidden as she thought.

"What do you plan to do now, Andy?"

Andy stared at her drink, watching the contents slush back and forth. It was a question she had avoided asking herself, because she simply didn't know.

"I should stay with Michelle until after the baby is born, and make sure she settles into motherhood. After that…I guess, eventually find a way back…home?"

She took a swig of her drink.

"However, I estimate that the probability of that endeavor is slim to none. It appears to be a one way steet, with not even the wisest of your planet's denizens possess the faintest clue." Andy had inquired with the old Dunmer that owned the mushroom village. While he was curt and to the point, he had given her a no bullshit answer about her chances of getting back "home".

Serena nodded in understanding. The male at the table was deathly quiet. He probably wasn't even paying attention. Some things stay the same, no matter what universe you're in.

"I will keep my ears open, and let you know if I hear of anything that might help." Serena looked at her with pity in her eyes. She was a sweet, little blood diseased angel.

Andy patted her hand. "You are too kind, my friend."

She saw Michelle stumble out of her room, no doubt, on her way to the outhouse. She caught a glimpse of a half naked Valdras, fast asleep on the bed.

"Looks like I can actually get some sleep now."

[-]

It was all gone.

All his power…stripped. Four thousand years of roaming infinite hallways, perfecting his skills with the forbidden and unknown knowledge of an eternity…

Gone.

His memory had not failed him. The dragon's blood that coursed through his veins was as strong as it had ever been. It was his magic, it had disappeared.

His physical form was slowly adjusting to a mortal life, once more. The bare thread remained, enough that he was able to take his first real breath in four thousand years.

However, he was weak, something he had never experienced in his entire existence.

The mask had no worth anymore, the power being drained. It was useless junk.

He was lying on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling of this pathetic excuse for an inn. A warm body was curled up next to him. His mate was fast asleep.

Yes, he knew. He had known, even before he saw Akatosh's mark on her. She, however, was not in tune with things of this nature. Her talks of returning to her own realm infuriated him, but his current, weakened form made it easier to control his anger.

They shared a bed out of necessity, as no others were available. The vampire was on a cot a few feet away.

The dragon was restless.

The vampire awoke from her nap, sitting up and stretching. She proceeded towards the door, preoccupied on quelling her growing hunger. He sensed this struggle in her, since first introductions were made at the Telvanni's residence. Whether she found a poor drunkard as her next meal or not made little difference to him.

He rolled on his side, reaching around his mate, dragging her closer. Her sleeping form obliged, and a soft moan vibrated through her body.

Mine.

The faint and fast beating heart of the child in the womb next door could be heard. It was male, content, and no doubt comforted by the closeness of the father.

He placed a hand on his mate's lower abdomen. Would she bare him a son as well? Would Akatosh bestow the dragon's soul, once more?

Did it matter?

Eventually sleep overtook him, and he let these thoughts slip into the blackness of the night.


	15. Chapter 15

Andy was trying her best to assimilate into the local culture, but it proved to be a lost cause. She tugged anxiously at her modified shirt collar, making a piss-poor attempt at a bowtie.

She settled with a normal tie instead. It was still very chic, and added some color.

She was no tailor, but found plenty of free time to practice since arriving in Whiterun over two months ago. She had made, what was her best attempt at, an interview suit.

Her intent was to "apply" for a position at the local government house on top of the hill. The position did not exist, however, she would do her best to convince them on hiring a new city planner…of sorts.

Her white shirt was tucked into black trousers, which were connected to a primitive form of suspenders, adjustable through various buttons and latches she had sewn in.

A pair of sleek black boots, which laced at the back, ended just above her knees, with the black trouser material slipping underneath. They were similar to a pair of horse riding styled boots she had debated about getting in Dillard's one time.

For four hours.

She had decided they were too expensive, and would never wear them.

Her "breast band" had been remorselessly burned a few weeks ago; those things were the definition of cruel and unusual punishment. As an alternative, she had constructed her own version of a bra. It was made out of leather straps, reinforced with softer, fur inserts at the critical contact points. She had lined the inside with "tundra cotton" patches, which she dipped in some sort of local perfume. Boob sweat turned into a muted smell of lavender…and boob sweat.

Sweaty Lavender, by Calvin Klein.

The middle crisscrossed, and she had woven the ends underneath loops on the sides. On the far back sides were buttons. She could adjust the "support", as she saw fit.

All in all, it performed as well as a $20 special at the department stores.

Andy was proud of it.

Over her shirt was a crude version of a black vest she had made to cover up any of the inconsistencies in the fabric of her shirt (bleach had yet to exist). It looped nicely around her shoulders, also providing a bit more support to her chest.

Suspenders up, she threw on a snazzy black cloak that Vicky had lying around, with an intricate broach that clasped around the neck.

There was small mirror in the room. She did a quick look over, patting down her best attempt as a professional, twisted bun, and gathering any stray hairs which slid their way out of the piece of shit hair clasp.

She kind of looked like a mesh of Sleepy Hollow, Gladiator, and a hobo.

Propping the hood up, she felt small arms wrap around her waist.

"Aunt Andy, where are you going?"

She touched Lucia's head, and ruffled the already wild hair. Her parents had died during the unfortunate local civil war that ended a few years before her sudden "dump" into this world. While a group called the "Empire" had subsequently won, the aftermath of war is always the same.

"Going to find a job, sprout."

Valdras and Michelle had been kind enough to give the child her own room at their place (which went by a local name of "Breezehome"). Unfortunately, the only other unoccupied bed in the house was also in the "children's room", and Andy spent every night with most of her limbs hanging off a tiny bed on the opposite side of Lucia's, listening to the kid snore.

It was a decent part of her motivation to gain employment. She needed her own place, a normal sized bed…just, something that resembled a shred of her life before this.

Serena and Miraak had left their little party, once they had docked in Windhelm. Serena was going to touch base with some illuminati organization called "The Dawnguard", then travel towards Whiterun before the birth of Michelle's kid. They hunted vampires, even though she was a vampire?

It didn't really make a lot of sense, but it seemed to make her happy.

She glanced at her crude version of a calendar on the wall. Serena should be here in the next week or so.

Miraak had been itching to start regaining his lost skills with his "magic", and travel to place called "The College of Winterhold", where warlocks, witches, and Dumbledore lived. Andy could tell Valdras was leery of it, and to be honest, so was she. Mirrak's motivations were still largely unknown.

And he had some _serious_ , psychological problems.

Still, something very weird was going on with her when it came to Mr. Temper.

She remembered waiting for him, outside the gates, by the stables in Windhelm. She wasn't entirely sure why she was there, or what made her get up at the crack ass of dawn to stumble out into the freezing tundra. She felt a sort of… _pull_. It was hard to explain. Perhaps it was because he was the first being she truly had contact with in this strange place? She felt bad about his long isolation, and the PTSD he obviously suffered. Then there was the distant, foggy memory of lying around butt-naked in a delerious state, covered in blood…but that was when she had a hole in her skull.

Which was entirely _his_ fault.

No, it was because of the time she woke up in that dingy room at the Puking Nelly, tangled up in his arms and legs, drooling on his chest. Nothing had happened, but it was still awkward. She wasn't sure if he ever knew about it; as she had managed to dislodge herself from his grasp, his eyes never appearing to open. It had just felt so… _right_.

And that feeling scared her.

She chose to bunk solo in a sleeping bag on the floor after that.

 _Standing in a corner, half hidden, by the edge of the stable house, green eyes scanned the barren landscape._ _Snow sparkled like millions of diamonds, as the sun made its slow climb over the edge of the world, once more._

 _The galaxy could be seen above her head._ _She was unsure if it was still the milky way, albeit in a different position._ _This world's version of the Aurora Borealis was flickering in the waking sky._ _Giant moons, way too close to actually exist by any known physics, lazily twirled about in the cosmos._

 _It was alien and magnificant at the same time._

 _Her thoughts were interrupted by a bag being slung on the back of the carriage._ _A tall, dark hooded figure fumbled with a small pack, taking a few "septims" from a bag (the local form of currency, more or less gold coins)._ _They handed some to the carriage driver._

 _"Climb aboard and we'll be off."_

 _She made no movement to give notice of her location._ _To be honest, she wasn't even sure she should be there._ _Doubt crept into her mind, and she nervously glanced back towards the bridge, thinking that maybe she could sneak off with him being none the wiser._

 _"_ _Andrea."_

 _He was slowly making long strides in her direction._

 _Well…shit._

 _She nervously rubbed her arms under the cloak, looking everywhere except at him._ _The silence of the morning was deafening._ _The restless patter of the carriage horse barely broke above the oppressive vacuum._

 _She felt a warm breath near her face._

 _Large green eyes looked up._

 _"_ _Uhh…" she croaked._

 _Smooth Andy, real smooth._

 _She glanced towards the bridge, and moved her body in that direction._ _She had pretty much decided to abort this mission, since her brain had obviously aborted itself._

 _He firmly snatched her arm, pulling her back towards him._ _Another hand gripped her chin, as he pushed her face back up to look at his._

 _Hot puffs of breath intermingled in the crisp morning air._

 _He bent down, and ghosted a kiss over her lips._

 _It was chaste, it was sweet, it was…_

 _Over._

 _He leaned back, nicked her chin and did a "tsk"._ _A half-smirk formed on his mouth, before returning to the same ruminating frown._ _She watched him walk away, hop on the carriage, and ride off into the distance…_

A pull on her cloak snapped her thoughts back to the present.

Lucia had discovered some copies of Andy's midevil attempt at a resume.

"Pro…profess…professional…"

Inquisitive brown eyes locked with green ones.

"What's this word?"

There was no word for "engineer" in their written language, so she picked the next best thing to what she did.

"It says 'Architect'. They design all the buildings you see." Design was perhaps used too liberally, most of these houses were shacks, at best.

Lucia had an abhorrid level of literacy, which was simply inexcusable. Andy had almost _choked_ Michelle when she discovered the child didn't even know her "ABCs".

She used the "don't stress the baby" excuse a little too often.

Andy took it upon herself to start teaching the child the basics, which helped reinforce her own progression with the written portion as well. It was a win-win situation. There appeared to be an equal amount of an illiterate female-to-male ratio. Feminism _somewhat_ existed, largely depending on who you talked to. There were female governors, or "Jarls". In fact, there was even a "High Queen". The usual emphasis on "breeding" and "taking care of the home" still existed, but it seemed more of a glass ceiling, instead of a lead ceiling.

"Can I come with?"

She thought about it for a bit.

"Did you finish your math homework?"

A foot lazily drug across the floor, " _sort of_ ".

Ha…kids.

"Promise me you'll finish it by tomorrow morning, and you can come. We'll stop by the cat tents after my interview."

The entire room lit up with excitement. "You're the best Aunt Andy!"


	16. Chapter 16

Her sales pitch for a job didn't go exactly as planned, but she ended up "hired", none the less. She had made an appointment with Adrianne's dad, which went about as well as she had expected it to.

"Thank you, Andrea Mason, we will consider your _qualifications_."

Prick.

Thank God his daughter was absolutely nothing like him.

She stuck out her hand to shake his, and he stared at it. Oh…right. She bowed.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Avenicci."

Lucia was running around at the front of the giant banquet hall (there was some obsession with banquet halls in this society), near the entrance. Ole' Rough n' Gruff (she nicknamed Balgruuf that, for obvious reasons) had a couple of his own spoiled devil turds. She didn't really care for them (she almost beat the one girl's ass in the market; Valdras had to basically hold her down), but Lucia needed social development.

Learning how to deal with a bitch early in life was an invaluable skill.

On her decent down the steps, she heard a woman call out "Hey, you there! Come, we need your assistance."

She turned she see a Dunmer woman.

Ah, yes, the bodyguard.

She reminded her of Xena, except she could, and probably _would_ , kill you.

"Yes?" This was slightly odd. Her presence was merely known as "a friend" of the Dragonborn, and "Thane" (it was like a version of a Duke or Earl). No one really paid her much attention, and thought her mostly queer…in looks, and personality.

Which, she had to admit, she was a little socially odd sometimes.

"You can repair buildings, correct?"

Did this woman have super hearing or just telepathic skills? Andy nodded.

"Good, I need to you to look at something."

Andy followed her down some steps, through a series of doors, which lead to more steps, continuing downwards.

They finally came to a long hallway, barred doorways littered each side.

Ah…a jail. Wait a minute here-

"Take a look at the back cell, the wall has started to crumble."

Relieved, Andy walked slowly towards the end. There were a few drunkards, in various stages of sobering up in some of the cells. One guy she had run into a few times at the Bannered Mare, hiccupped.

"Hey, sweet cheeks, you finally come to take me up on my offer…BELCH"

Jesus Torvar, you really need to join an AA group. She tried to suppress a smile, and shook her head.

"Maybe later Torvar, when you quit drinking."

He looked down at an empty bottle. Then back up at her.

"That's…cruel, woman."

She laughed.

At the end was a decrepit cell, which obviously had been out of use for quite some time. She felt a strong draft whip past her, and knelt down towards the back corner.

Daylight. The mortar had crumbled, and some of the blocks were barely holding on.

One good kick, and the entire thing would probably break off.

Irileth was leaning over her, "well, can you fix it?".

Andy wiped her hands against each other a few times, flinging some dirt off in the process. "Yes and no, I'll need to do some more research on the foundation of the building, to assess the extent of the damage. What you see here is just the cosmetic effects of a potentially big problem underneath."

Irileth looked at her, then back at the wall. She shook her head.

"Good, report to me in no less than a week with what you have found. I will expect a solution, as well."

She liked this woman. She could definitely deal with the straight up, no bullshit management style.

Proventus stumbled in behind them. Andy locked eyes with his, and a sarcastic grin spread across her face.

"Guess you were in need of my, _qualifications_ , after all."

[-]

The dreugh ignited, ripping apart…turning into ashy remnants that rippled and floated downwards to the stone ground.

He felt power course his veins. It felt _good_.

"Excellent." Faralda was impressed. His natural talent was on par with those she had trained under back in Summerset Isle, even surpassing many of them. It was quite unusual for a Nord.

She did not believe his story of coming from a small farming village to the south. Nor did she believe that his name was "Arngald Trollbrand". Above all, she did not believe the left side of his face had been "damaged by a fire". He wore an eye patch, and a partial cloth covering over the "burnt and deformed" skin. During one of their many sessions, she had caught glimpse of scales adorning his cheek.

His business was his own. The college's motto was to be a place of learning. The previous past of the students were not their concern, nor were they there to judge. However, the future development of the student's education _was_ entirely their business.

"I do not believe there is anything else I can teach you", she said, with slight sadness in her tone. She had enjoyed such a star pupil, after centuries of being exposed to "less than desirable" candidates. It had been a grueling few months, but to see such progress in a short time was well worth it.

Miraak straightened his posture, extinguishing the flame in his palm. Relearning his skill had moved at a much faster pace than he originally surmised. He had discovered that his mana pool had not completely disappeared during his escape from Apocrypha…it had only been temporarily damaged.

He casted a strong, light spell that painted shadows across the walls, lazily following its circular journey.

He faced her, and bowed his head.

"I thank you for your time and dedication, master trainer."

Faralda simply nodded back. His studies were complete. He would be leaving.

A new group of students tumbled in the Hall of Elements, Tolfdir leading the pack.

"And here we will have class everyday, at 2pm…"

Such was life at the college. When one student left, another one was eagerly awaiting to fill the empty spot. She eyed the incoming group and silently prayed to the Eight that the new Khajiit was not interested in destruction. One J'zargo was more than enough.


	17. Chapter 17

Dragonsreach was fucked. The fact that it hadn't been swallowed up in a sink hole was a miracle in itself.

Apparently the area suffered from mild tremors, but not enough that the locals ever noticed. She was no geologist, so she could not pinpoint the cause, however, it was not the main reason for the slow cracks that were starting to split the bottom foundations of the building.

During her week long excavation of the outer wall, she had performed a crude form excavation, similar to core-drilling, with the goal of finding out exactly what the ground consisted of.

Adrianne had given her an incredulous look when Andy brought her the blueprints for a "special set of tools".

Andy braced the item on a 4-legged bracket, which was firmly held in place by primitive stakes. As she drilled, she would attach another bit, about a meter in length, then start the process all over again. It was a very tedious task.

Roughly ten meters down, she came across what she had a suspicion was there.

Water. Well, more namely, muck, but the entire base which the building sat on was a small lake. Hence the springs that ran through the streets.

There must have been some remnants of an ancient mountain range that dotted along this underground lake. It would be the only thing that could keep supporting the load above. Finding _exactly_ where those points were was impossible without modern day equipment.

She looked around. Well, she suppose she _was_ in "modern day".

The first thing they would need to do is start putting in piles, then re-bracing the outer wall along these new stationary points. Eventually they would work inwards, assuring that everything had been reinforced with a sturdy foundation underneath it…as best as they could.

Reconstruction would probably not be cheap. Someone else's problem though. She wasn't an accountant. She gave Irileth the low down, and some suggestions at the best way to go about "fixing" the problem, with conservative estimates on the labor and materials required, etc.

Her new boss seemed relatively pleased, and told her to come back next week once she had the time to go over this with Rough n' Gruff.

She took a detour leaving Dragonsreach, and stopped outside to visit the cat people, err, "Khajiit". They were pretty decent…people? Cats? Anyways, they were obviously a bunch of drug dealers, as well. Nothing hard core, just some of the less-than-legal picker-uppers, called "moon sugar" and "skooma".

She didn't need a cocaine addiction added to her current set of problems, and politely had declined the offer.

"Ah, you are interested in Ri'saad's wares, yes?"

Not quite. More like, interested in Ri'saad's giant stash of _weed_.

After buying an insane amount of some sort of herb the people of this planet commonly smoked, she headed back to Breezehome. Ever since Miraak had healed her in the library from hell, her asthma had seemed to disappear.

The house was full of people. Vicky was "due" any day, and Serena had made her way back from her illuminati club.

Valdras had a live in servant, or bodyguard of sorts, named Lydia. Her room occupied the upstairs section, right above Andy's head. Lydia was a nice girl, and very pretty in that Wonder Woman way. Andy was positive she could crush her in two, if the occasion ever arose.

However, Lydia was very well-mannered, and gave off a general pleasant vibe.

She also had a small phobia about vampires.

Andy was trying her best to get comfortable on the splintered floorboards upstairs. Lydia insisted she would sleep in Lucia's room. Andy had insisted that Serena take Lydia's bed. It was rude not to give the guest the better bed…although she was also a guest, so a guest of a guest? Guest squared?

She stared at the ceiling.

A pair of red eyes came into her vision.

"Hey, want to get out of here and get a drink?"

Did she mean blood or liquor? Honestly, Andy didn't care at that point, the screws in her hip were protesting quite loudly.

"Yes."

Andy stomped the light snow off her boots before entering the Bannered Mare, and kicked some slush off the bottom, against the wall. The loud banging could be heard on the inside. Most people had learned to accept her odd mannerisms by now, and did not even bat an eye.

"Sounds like Andy's here" Hulda said with slight irritation. That girl was going to kick off the siding one day.

A tall figure in the back looked up at the door. He was seated across from another, equally as tall figure.

Farkas leaned over, "do you think Lydia's with her, brother?"

Vilkas shrugged his shoulders. Farkas had taken quite a fancy to the housecarl over the past few months. She seemed of a decent sort…simple. It was probably an excellent match, to be honest. His brother was very unassured of himself though, and was taking a long time to get the nerve to propose a trip to Riften.

The door swung open, and a beautiful, exotic brunette stepped in. She had her hair out of its usual braid, and flowing in long, multicolored layers, down in front of her chest. Her cloak was still clasped, with the hood up. Delicate hands appeared, and a pair of striking green eyes came into view.

His pants were getting a little tight, and he shifted in his chair to "ease the tension", getting an eyeful of the-

"Holyshit Hulda, it's colder than a penguin's balls! Where's that _booze_."

His arousal died.

This is why he never pursued her. Albeit, she was aesthetically pleasing, what came out of her mouth was something entirely different, as well as her odd behavior. She was quite intelligent, but awkwardly so. He shook his head a little; it would never work.

A figure stepped in behind Andy. A tall, Nord woman, wearing an intricate set of red and black armor. A dark hood covered her face. He couldn't make out anything, but the beast inside sniffed.

A vampire.

Vampirism did not bother him. His beast blood was immune to the disease. The blood lust was of a different sorts. While he enjoyed the hunt, he did not hunger for blood.

The Dragonborn definitely kept _interesting_ company, to say the least.

Red eyes locked with his. His beast snarled in response.

The hunt was on.

[-]

Andy was on beer number three, or four. Yeah, it was four.

She had her head propped up by her left arm, slowly moving her bottle around in her right hand, sloshing the liquid.

Tweedle-dick and Tweedle-dumb had decided to join their table over an hour ago. Tweedle-dick was busy flirting with Serena, who seemed to be enjoying it, as a loud giggle erupted over the normal chanter of the bar. Far be it from Andy to crush her vampire fantasies.

Tweedle-dumb kept asking her about Lydia.

"What is her favorite color?"

Fuck-off. Fuck-off is her favorite color.

"Blue." Honestly she had no clue, and didn't care. Gray? All she saw that woman wear was steel.

"Ahhh…then a sapphire would be good."

 _Imagine._

Farkas was actually a very nice person. He was just so… _stupid_. It wasn't really a lack of intelligence, he appeared to have no known mental disability. He simply didn't read, and preferred to pound things with giant weapons.

He apparently wanted to pound Lydia as well.

She snorted. _Giant weapon…_

He eyed her suspiciously, and she put a hand up, shaking her head slightly.

"Sorry, mind is wandering."

He smiled. Aww, him and Lydia would have such cute, little Conan babies.

"What about you Andy. Do you have anyone you're sweet on?"

She got real silent, staring in her drink. Huh, no one has ever asked her that. She also never really thought about the prospect of dating in this new reality of hers either. She felt so…out of place.

Her mind wandered again, the liquor setting in a little more.

"He's in Morrowind."

Wait, what? Did that come from her? She looked up. Red eyes were staring back, questioning.

Farkas smiled again, content with the answer and blissfully unaware of the significance.

She made an excuse that she was suddenly tired, wished Farkas a goodnight, snatched her cloak, threw the hood back up, and stepped out into the cold night.

At least it stopped snowing.

A hand clasped her wrist before the door swung shut. Serena stepped out real quick, pulling Andy off to the side.

"Are you ok?" a genuinely worried look crossed Serena's face. "Who is in Morrowind?"

Andy kind of…zoned out. She had no idea where that came from. She knew Morrowind was where Valdras was from, but it made no sense.

"I…I don't know." She looked back at Serena.

"I'm...just tired. Had a busy day. Go back inside, you were enjoying yourself." Andy gave her a sly wink.

Serena flashed a toothy grin back, patted Andy's hand, then went back into the warm inn.


	18. Chapter 18

The baby finally came. There were about a hundred people clustered around Breezehome. Michelle was not very accustomed to pain. She had almost ripped Andy's shoulder out of her socket at one point.

She also threw a knife at Valdras' head.

All sharp objects were, therefore, removed from her immediate vicinity.

The baby was a cute little bundle of stink. He mostly looked like Michelle, but had some defined features of his father. It was…genetically odd looking.

Of course, she told her cousin it was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid her eyes on, etc. They had named the baby "Rommes" (Andy insisted on pronouncing it "Romulus") , which was after his mother's father.

Already trying to butter up mommy when you bring your _girlfriend_ home with a kid. She laughed.

She was rocking the sleeping infant by the fire downstairs. Most of everyone had already stopped by. All sorts of bizarre items littered the entranceway of the home. Some were obvious things, like cloth for diapers. Others, she had no clue.

One old man brought a sword. Andy remembered hanging onto it with her right arm stuck out, like it was diseased.

"Oh wow, yeah… _geese_ , I'll make sure they get this. You really _shouldn't have._ "

She threw it in a closet. What moron brings a sword as a baby gift?

She was singing. "Don't call my name, don't call my name…Alejandro"

That's not very child appropriate.

"Golden slumbers fill your eyes."

Much better.

Vicky and Valdras were fast asleep upstairs. Lucia was spending the night at Jorrvaskr with Lydia. Andy had talked to that nice old man, Kodlak, about setting up a "week camp" for the kids in the area. In reality, it was a ploy to get Lydia and Farkas together. The old man was pretty sharp, and picked up on what was between the lines. It appeared that he wanted to see the two clueless love birds happy as well.

Over the past couple of months, she had went to Jorrvaskr a few times a week, paying for "combat lessons" from the "Companions". She figured she needed to start learning how to function in this society, which borrowed heavily from the Renaissance Festival. Mostly, her lessons served as a reminder on how much she sucked at athletics. The Brothers Dim would typically just laugh at her, sometimes causing her to trip and land in a face full of mud. Aela, who was the reincarnation of Artemis, appreciated Andy's dedication in _trying_ to get better, and decided that they would focus on "daggers only", for rudimentary self-defense maneuvers.

She got the twins back though. One came in the form of a suicide sauce, the other, super glue.

Vilkas' hair still hadn't grown all the way back.

"Sleep pretty darling do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby."

[-]

She stared at the mask, running her fingers over the cold, alien metal. The thing was truly hideous.

But it was all she had left of him.

It had been three months since Rommes' birth. Michelle was surprisingly adjusting well to motherhood. Valdras would handle local skirmishes, and occasionally got wrapped up in political engagements at Dragonsreach. He was staying as close to home as he could, and had become even more protective of Michelle than before (if that was even possible).

She would sometimes have lunch with him at the state house, when she was up there observing the progress of the reconstruction. All piling had been completed, so the actual foundation repair was underway. She had sketched some alternative designs they could do, while still keeping the current theme of "trapping dragons". She had made a crude form of a slide ruler, to assist in more complex calculations, since the batteries in her calculator were dead.

Her new boss was, once again, very pleased. Rough n' Gruff had sent word of her to the other jarls in the province, with a hefty recommendation.

Farkas had finally asked Lydia for her hand in marriage. She had moved into Jorrvaskr, which meant that Andy was able to sleep in an adult's bed. They had thrown the love birds a small, simple wedding.

She dropped the mask in her lap, and put her head in her hands. A tear fell.

God…damnit.

Michelle and Valdras were going to be making a trip to Blacklight in the next month, to finally meet his mother. They were going to stop and get this planet's version of an elopement in a town called "Riften", before crossing the border.

Michelle had asked if Andy wanted to come with them, but she politely declined. This seemed like a very private, and intimate, matter. She didn't want to be a fifth wheel. They were taking Lucia with them, since she was technically their daughter as well.

They would have a grandiose wedding when they returned, anyways.

A knock on the door echoed up the stairs. She wiped her eyes, and hopped down the steps, swinging the door open.

A young kid was panting at the door.

"Can I…help you?", her left eyebrow was raised.

"Mail for Andrea Mason."


	19. Chapter 19

Markarth was amazing. Buried in the mountains, were strange formations that started to pop up around them, until you came face to face with the stone walls of an ancient, extinct civilization.

She was beyond thrilled.

The letter she received was from a "Jarl Igmund". Apparently, Markarth was built over the remnants of a great civilization, and was in desperate need of restoration. The details weren't specified, but she agreed anyways.

Valdras had given her a run down of the town, as well as a brief history if a race called the "Dwemer", which sounded quite advanced in terms of technology.

She couldn't wait to have a look around. Maybe she could discover a way to get back "home".

She hopped off the back of the carriage, and waved at the driver, her backpack hauled over her shoulder. The rest of her belongings would be there in a week ("belongings" was whatever Michelle insisted she have). The gate was massive. Intricate designs were plastered all over. It appeared to be made of some sort of bronze material.

The large "door" was open enough for a small cart to wheel in and out. She slid past a group of women huddled around a jewelry stand at the entrance. Stone towers, adorned with more bronze metal, lined the cobble streets.

It was remarkable.

She followed a stream up towards a massive waterfall, that had been split into two. Now, whoever designed this place, KNEW what they were doing. These ruins were thousands of years old, yet still awe inspiring.

Guards were stationed outside of a series of doors. She figured this was where the Jarl lived. Upon entry, she noticed the rubble that lined the hallway. As she walked forward, even bigger piles formed. She had an inclination of what her next project was going to be.

She headed straight ahead, coming to a series of stairs. She looked up.

And froze

What the fuck is **_that_**?

It was like, some bizarre looking robot…but with sharp objects coming out of the hands. The bottom was on tilted, cylindrical wheels. It was massive.

It was also alarming. Did any of these things still work? She couldn't imagine how badly damaged or degraded they must be. She looked behind her to see an even larger robot, with a deadly hammer for an arm.

These were built for war.

She cautiously approached the "throne room". A tall figure crashed into her.

"Watch yourself."

She did a double take. He was one of those tall elves, um, Altmer. Or Thalmor? She forgot.

Either way, they were known for being pompous narcissists. She shrugged it off, and stepped forward to meet her "new boss".

[-]

"Would you pass me that soul gem, my dear."

Calcelmo was actually a pretty decent guy (he was the one she crashed into the week before), he was just a little moody. He actually reminded her of her Michelle's dad, Uncle Jerry; which was ironic, since his actual nephew, Aicantar, was also there helping with his research on the Dwemer.

The Jarl appeared to mostly be an ignorant jackass, but the paid well. They even offered to pay for her lodgings at a place called the "Silver-Blood Inn", while she stuck around to monitor the reconstruction efforts. There was a lucrative silver mine located to the left of the ancient city. It was the same mine Valdras had broken out of years ago, when the guards had framed him for murder.

Oh yes, she had received all the details on the corrupt local politics, as well as the insane natives. She understood she had to be _cautious_.

Valdras and Michelle owned a pretty impressive place on the other side of city, up a murderous amount of stairs (her calves _burned_ ). It also had a fancy title: "Vlindrel Hall". The Dwemer were quite the builders; the houses boasted indoor plumbing, hot water, and most "modern-day" comforts.

Why Michelle insisted on living in Whiterun was beyond her.

Vlindrel Hall also housed the most saliva inducing male she had ever seen in her life. Argis the Bulwark.

Argis the "oh my god I need to change my underwear".

This guy was like sex on steroids. Beefy, with a badass tattoo on his right cheek. His left eye had been damaged during a skirmish with a bear, and he had claw mark scars embedded on his cheek.

It seemed to make him even _more_ attractive.

While the view was nice, he was not the most studious individual. However, he had quite a warm personality, and they enjoyed daily conversations at the dinner table. What was even more interesting was his secret relationship with Vorstag. She wasn't sure if homosexuality was acceptable in this new "reality", as to why they were keeping it under wraps, or if they were generally private people.

It wasn't her business to pry.

Vorstag was planning a trip to Solitude (the province's capital), and Andy was the first to pipe up, suggesting that Argis should travel there as well. She handed him crude blueprints for a violin, and asked if he could take it to the Bard's college. It was a past-time she missed, and there was no reason she couldn't attempt to re-create the instrument.

"Just get the drift and go enjoy some alone time with your man, _sexy",_ she said in her mind, while he kept being reluctant. He was unsure about leaving the home unattended, since he was the housecarl.

She dumped a giant sack of gold in his hand (Valdras had an insane amount of money), and kicked his ass out the door.

The city possessed this odd "feel" to it. She could tell something was energized, underneath. The distant sounds of a steam trap lifting in the night clued her into something that was still "operating" beneath their feet. She was dying to explore it.

Her research with Calcelmo proved fruitful, to an extent. She discovered that "soul gems" radiated a low amount of electric energy, naturally degrading over time. One time she had brought her cell phone, in a pathetic attempt to show them some of her technology (while they were primarily interested in Dwemer, they were scientists, by default). When setting it by a soul gem, she saw the battery icon pop up on the screen.

It was charging.

She looked up at Aicantar with the biggest grin she had ever had in her life.


	20. Chapter 20

"You were foolish to remain here."

The creature snarled at him, taking a defensive posture in the corner. Whatever consciousness it had once possessed had deteriorated into no more than the mere delusions of its dead master.

The Nerevarine, in his haste, had not rid Red Mountain of all of Dagoth Ur's Ash Vampires. One still lived, and it also was in possession of a very powerful item.

It was convenient.

A blue light formed from the center of a daedric glove. Sharp, black fingers spread out, causing large, other worldly shadows to flicker on the walls of the cave. He raised his arm, palm facing the pathetic creature hovered in the corner.

A shard of ice shot across the room, embedding itself into Dagoth Araynys. The skull split open, causing a red gelatin to splatter on the cave wall.

The last remnant of Dagoth Ur was finally dead.

Miraak slowly walked towards the crumpled body on the floor. He placed a foot on the chest, lifting its left arm, and yanking the ring off in the process. The daedric boot punctured some flesh, and a small river of dark blood flowed down the sides of the corpse.

The Soul Ring caught a small glimmer of light, casting a deep red shadow over blackness.

He had what he came for. The previous armor granted to him by Hermaeus Mora was stripped of all power and enchantments. He had spent the past few months painstakingly searching for the lost and forbidden artifacts that Tamriel possessed. Morrowind had proven to be a lucrative location; most adventurers still avoided the inner island of Vvardenfell, as the aftermath of the volcanic explosion was still present.

The daedric armor he wore had been modified. Instead of the bulk to protect against blows, he had stripped it to accommodate those more in tune with magic, enchanting the various pieces with powerful spells. Deep red cloth intermixed with sharp, black hellish metal, crisscrossing at various points. Menacing, black pauldrons sat upon his shoulders, glistening in the dim light. He had created his own custom mask, which covered the skin on his left face, albeit leaving the eye free.

A dark, black hood was pulled over, shadowing his face. He was an imposing sight.

He radiated _power_.

The ring locked over his gloved finger, and he immediately felt the energy spread through his body. Closing his eyes, he lifted his head up, and breathed out slowly.

It was always a strong rush.

Paarthurnax had understood. The desire to dominant is strong, and difficult to control. Experiencing weakness is worse than death, but it put forth new understandings.

Tolerance. Patience. Acceptance.

The Old One had recommended to focus on building new, more powerful armor. The sense of self would return, as the soul would find contentment, no longer feeling weak.

Dominance would always be a battle he would live with, eternally.

There was also… _her_.

Paarthurnax had, once, been visited by the Aedra. It was Kyne's intervention that set forth the events to follow, which led to Alduin's eventual demise.

Miraak had told him of the marking the fate-less bore. His assumptions were confirmed; the Aedra had once again, intervened.

"Ah. A female Dovahkiin. Such a rarity, yet where there was none, there is one."

A sharp wind roared in the distance.

"A Dovahkiin? How can you be so sure? She did not absorb Sahrotaar's soul." He thought back to the event. Neither he or the Dunmer had absorbed the soul, either. It had simply…disappeared. He had attributed it to the machinations of Hermaeus Mora.

Paarthurnax lifted his head, and moved slowly towards the First Dragonborn. The sound of snow crunching echoed in the mountain recess.

"The Dovah…claim no gender. The Dovahkiin, however, do."

The old dragon moved closer.

"The male brings forth change."

A hot breath crossed Miraak's entire body.

"You take."

The soul within him growled.

"The female is creation. _She gives_."

The wind ferociously howled.

"She gave Sarhotaar peace."


	21. Chapter 21

When she was about twenty-seven, a coworker talked her into going mountain climbing. It was great and all at first, until she slipped, and the guide had to stop the tour to get the rescue team to bring her down.

Calcelmo and Aicantar were already unhooked, and setting up a temporary research station in the cove. They had wanted to scale the side of the ruins across the bridge, to see if there may be any other hidden entrances.

They were also, insane.

She took a couple of breathes and started her decent.

"I still wanna be a spaceman"

 _A couple of feet down._ _We're doing great._ _And…push._

"Explore a distant land"

 _This was going pretty well._

"As we contemplate the credible"

 _Please don't look down._

"Unfold the master plan"

 _I looked._

"When they say jump and they say how high"

 _Oh boy._

"I wanna soar across the sky"

 _I'm going to soar into this pit._

"A revolution is a resource…and we got enough started up"

 _Oh my fucking god,_ _ **ground**_ _._

She landed on the edge with both feet, lifting up her hands and belted out:

"Countdown to the Scientist!"

They stared at her.

[-]

Andy had formed a pretty good friendship with, believe it or not, an _orc_.

Not the Lord of the Rings ones, but these were more…elvish. The only real difference was the lower fangs that popped up past their lips, coupled with a scrunched nose.

Oh…and they obviously ate _a lot_ of protein.

"Moth gro-Bagol", was the personal blacksmith for that twit of a representative, and he was damn good at his job. His sister operated the forge outside. She was pretty good too, but he was like a god at the forge.

The Forge God.

She had brought him one of the .17 HMR bullets, asking if he might be able to replicate it. He did. This man, or _orc_ , was a genius. She wanted to kiss him, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it, so she settled for a hug.

During her brief, but informative, lessons on the "fundamentals of alchemy", Calcelmo had shown her how the chemistry set worked. He also had started to explain the different ingredients used to make "potions" for various effects. It was truly fascinating. Extremely surreal and not supported by science, but she was trying her best to keep an open mind.

She had discovered that this world possessed the basic materials for her to create gunpowder. She had some difficulty forming the primer, but "The Forge God" managed a technique that she still didn't quite understand.

Overall, she had managed to fix her limited ammo problem, albeit, she would be cleaning her gun out a lot more. This was still all good news, because she was terrible at physical combat.

She swung her gun off her shoulder (she had made a strap to free up her hands), and placed it on a flat rock off to the side. During her stay, she had adopted a style sense similar to "mage wear". It was a shorter robe, that had a few layers, which crossed diagonally in the front, kept in place by a belt and a strap off the left shoulder. A plain pair of brown leggings came with, that were surprisingly flexible and warm. The boots were a cream color fur, both on the outside and inside. They reached her knees.

Dyes were apparently not an important aspect in society. She had a choice between dirty brown, faded blue, or dingy green. She picked green. The dagger Aela gave her was tucked into her belt. She hoped she would never have to use it.

There were bits and pieces of broken pottery scattered around the cove. A small opening, created by a tremor, no doubt, appeared in the back. It was big enough for one person to slide in.

Valdras had not ventured into Nchuand-Zel. He only went as far as to kill the giant spider. In fact, there was no one who had, outside of Calcelmo's original excavations. The last party to attempt it never came back, and Valdras had found the corpse of a hired bodyguard. He was killed by the spider, but the rest simply…disappeared.

She rubbed her arms. Maybe they really shouldn't be here? The Animunculi were quite terrifying. They appeared to be designed in a basic, gear like fashion, but required some sort of "power source". For the size of the ones she had seen, they would probably need a couple car batteries to get going. She had been thinking of trying to create a primitive form of jumper cables, connected to a box full of soul gems, then hooking it up to a "Dwarven Spider" (the official term was "Dwemer", but they had a common term of "Dwarven", although the race hadn't been short). Maybe you could develop a way to control its actions? She had never actually seen one in action, only deactivated, so she was unsure of their normal degrees of motion and movements.

Calcelmo waved at her to follow. His nephew was going to stay behind and continue cataloging the bits of pottery scattered throughout the cove. She grabbed her gun, cautiously squeezing in between the small crevice, and into the dark.

[-]

Miraak had kept track of where she was, although she had no knowledge of this.

He knew that she was currently in Markarth, assisting in their efforts to rebuild the outer structure of the once great city of Nchuand-Zel. If only the Dwemer could see what had become of their testament to greatness. Ragged squatters, eking out a pathetic life, ignorant of the splendor that lied beneath their feet.

He kicked his horse and it picked up its pace. He could see the top of a crumbled tower in the distance.

He was… _interested,_ in what she was up to. He was also eager to verify that, she in fact, possessed the soul of a Dovah. He was reluctant to believe that it went unnoticed by him.

Paarthurnax was _wrong_.

Arriving at the stables, a shriveled up Breton eyed him with the light of a lantern. The Cedran hesitated…a cloaked figured on a tired horse slowly approached. The person on top appeared to be a giant. The hint of black metal glistened in the moonlight, the face was completely hidden.

The horse he was on lazily logged forward towards the stable. At least _that_ looked normal.

Miraak slid off the horse, landing on his feet with a thud. He handed the reigns to the old man, with a bag of gold. Sharp fingers of a dremora's glove scratched the old man's skin.

"I expect her to be taken care of."

A slow nod came from the old man, and the warlord walked towards the gate.

[-]

Miraak pushed the doors open to the local inn. Around him was the typical chatter and hollers of drunks. The bard by the fire was playing a light, airy tune. Some patrons were chewing large chunks of meat, grease pouring down their mouths, spit being flung as they tried to out yell their neighbor.

 _Cretins._

"Welcome to the Silver-Blood inn, what-"

The man at the bar stopped.

The entire inn went silent.

He straightened and walked forward, his boots clicking with each stride. Everyone simply watched, some in awe, some in terror.

"I am looking for Andrea Mason."


	22. Chapter 22

Oh this was such a bad, _bad_ idea.

Andy had already used almost all her ammo. Calcelmo's arm was slung over her shoulder. She was trying to drag the entirely too tall elf through the _not_ so abandoned ruins.

She heard growls in the distance. This was not good.

They had stumbled upon a new, undiscovered area of the old city. During their exploration, they had come across a lever, towards the side of a large room, near a bronze gate.

She did what no one with common sense would do: she pushed it.

Apparently the noises of a giant gate opening tipped off the local blind denizens of their presence. She came face to face with a "Falmer".

Holy…fucking…shit.

She shoved her gun in its face and pulled the trigger.

Calcelmo was an accomplished mage, being hundreds of years old, and specialized in a skill called "conjuration". It was similar to what Valdras had done with the lava bikini girl. Except, in their case, Calcelmo's hands were gushing blood with a couple fingers dangling to the side, barely held on by skin. One of the Falmer had sliced him up pretty good when he stretched his arms out to "summon help".

Bloody hand prints covered her shirt. He also had a pretty nasty stab wound in his left leg.

She had managed to escape unscathed, so far. She had good aim with her gun and managed to get a few headshots. Sweat poured down her face. The growls were getting closer.

They finally got to their entrance…the one that was up about ten feet in the air. There were a couple of ancient chairs in the corner. She grabbed one and jumped on it, dragging the heavy elf with her.

If she didn't get cannibalized by blind freaks, then she would definitely die of a heart attack.

She did what she really didn't _want_ to do: she shouted for Aicantar.

The howls echoed in the empty halls. They were coming.

The young elf poked his head through the crack.

"What's going on?!"

She thrust a nearly passed out Calcelmo up with all her strength.

"Grab him!"

The load disappeared instantaneously, as the abnormally strong Altmer pulled his uncle up with ease. She stretched up, hands clawing at the side of the old wall, desperately waiting to be lifted up next.

He grabbed her hand, but the blood from his uncle had made it slick. She fell back, slamming into the ground.

An arrow flew near Aicantar's head, right into a stress crack. A loud "pop" was followed by crumbling stone. He grabbed his uncle and threw him backwards, as the entrance caved in.

Darkness. That's all she saw. She felt a hot breath on her face. Gurgles and growls, with sniffing.

Scenes from "The Descent" flashed in her mind.

A loud scream blew her eardrums out, and she felt the impact of something on her head before she blacked out.

[-]

She was in pain. He could feel it.

 _And it enraged him._

The two pitiful Altmer were sniveling in the corner, preoccupied with their own injuries and shock.

They had left her to die.

 _They should die._

He closed his eyes.

 _Patience._

History tells little of the dealings between the ancient Atmorans and the Dwemer. This was not the first time he had been to this great city. It was unfortunate to see it in its current state. A great amount of time had passed, and with it, all that it had touched.

He walked past the rotting carapace of a giant frostbite spider. In front of the entrance was a partially degraded corpse of an imperial soldier. He stepped over it, pushing open the doors into the great halls of Nchuand-Zel.

[-]

Andy had been in sticky situations before.

She remembers forgetting to wake up for finals, basically automatically flunking two classes. She had managed to talk her way out of it, saying she had the flu, and they let her retake them.

There was that time she accidentally screwed up some strength calculations on anchor bolts. When they installed the equipment, and started it up, the bolts ripped due to the system loads.

She got fired, but they classified it as "a lay off", so she wasn't black marked in the industry.

Then there was the time she got arrested for possession of marijuana. The judge was friends with her dad, so they let her off with "community service", and didn't put it on her record.

But this…this was truly a _sticky_ situation.

She had woken up with a splitting headache. If she ever got home, the first thing she would ask for is an MRI. She was positive that her brain had permanent damage by now.

The ground was covered in a slime, and she slipped trying to get up. Her left leg was broken, probably in multiple locations. She heard the rattle of something behind her. Maybe that was in front of her. She was having a hard time focusing.

She felt around and realized her gun was gone.

 _Fuck._

The rattle started again.

She lifted her head back up, and some hair pulled in the process. It was kind of like that green snot you get in the toy section, except a lot more sticky, and _it smelled_.

She swore she heard something move.

The pain in her head was nauseating. She managed to lean up, and start coughing…holding back vomit.

The rattle got louder, and she felt some slime move on its own by her hands.

Oh my fucking god, it was Aliens. These were face huggers.

 _Game over man._

Some, black…insect thing popped in her limited vision. It looked like a giant ear-wig. It was about a foot in length.

She froze, wide eyed. This was absolutely terrifying.

It proceeded to "sniff" her. The pinchers flexed in and out a few times.

Then it turned around and waddled off.

She lifted up her hand, covered in slime.

"Huh."

It appears her captors had attempted to "feed her to the dogs", but failed to realize that dumping her in the slime made her smell _like them_. She lifted some more of the goo up, doing a once over on everything she could reach.

Her head was pounding, she slumped herself over a hard formation protruding out of the ground, keeping her torso elevated. It would have to do.

Slime encased her face. It tickled as she breathed out her mouth and nose, but at least she _was_ breathing…for now.

She passed out again.


	23. Chapter 23

The Falmer were once proud mer, devoted in their faith to Auri-El.

Miraak had occasional interactions with them, prior to his self-imprisonment. They were stoic in nature; initially leery of foreigners, be it men or mer, but they were fair and just.

And far too trusting.

His daedric sword impaled a shaman, ripping her in half in the process. His armor glowed a deep red as he absorbed her life essence. A trail of bodies littered the floor behind him.

He spotted a few crawling out of their nests in the room ahead. They howled and quickly scaled the walls, disappearing into the blackness.

He smiled. They were afraid, _as they should be_.

Eventually, he made his way down into the heart of the nest. A Warmonger was positioned in front of an array of their black, chitin tents. This was the leader. Miraak raised his hands, as the creature let out a horrific screech, signaling his presence to the rest of the tribe.

As they surrounded him, a bright glow began to form from his hands. The Warmonger made a sharp cry, and lunged forward. Miraak released a fire storm, incinerating everything in close proximity, leaving nothing but ash.

A few stragglers that survived were retreating, wailing into the shadows. They would reform the tribe in a few months, with a new leader, but for now the infestation was quelled.

He heard a faint and familiar heartbeat in the distance. Long strides carried him quickly past the grotesque village, and into a crevice tucked far behind a partially fallen tower.

There she was. Broken and bloody…covered in the putrid excrement of the Chaurus.

His dragon roared. The giant insects rattled, sharp noises echoing into the darkness. A queen reared her head, letting out a deafening hiss, as two large reapers emerged from the shadows.

 **MUL QAH DIIV**

[-]

She felt that warm, high-inducing feeling again.

Her eyes slowly opened. It hurt at first, the brightness stinging them.

Her vision cleared a bit. She was laying on the stone bench in Calcelmo's research station.

"Ughhh."

Kill me. Just kill me now.

The bright light flashed again, and she started to instantly feel better.

She lifted up a hand. It was still encased in slime. She guessed her idea of covering herself in it worked.

A delirious grin spread across her face.

She heard something loud, and flinched. It was a voice.

They really needed to shut up.

"How dare she act so foolish! Her place is to monitor these restorations, not lolly-gag looking for ill-gotten treasure!"

Oh, it was the Thalmor dickhead. He was really big on micromanaging.

And, **_loud_**.

Miraak fumed. His armor glowed a bright orange. In one swift move, he grabbed the mer by the throat, hauling them a few inches off the ground, feet dangling. The fingers of his glove dug in their neck, and a few trickles of blood dripped down as he felt the choking convulsions. His heavy cloak whisked backwards from the sudden movement , and the few individuals present got their first, complete look at this "man".

 _No one_ moved.

Ondolemar's eyes were wide with absolute dread. It was a demon. A dragon's eye stared black, glowing orange and fierce. It sneered, bearing its teeth.

The high elf wet himself.

 _Tolerance._

He threw the mer across the room with one arm.

Ondolemar scrambled to his feet and sprinting off like a madman down the hall.

Andy was oblivious to what just happened, as she was slowly touching her face, trying to peel off hardened parts of slime that had dried. The loudness had stop, thank God. She haphazardly rolled her head to the right to see Calcelmo, leaning up against the table. His hands were bandaged, and looked like two white mittens. The really nice tanned lady was there too…what was her name?

Eh. We'll call her Mary.

Mary was wrapping his leg. _That is_ _so adorable_. She wanted someone to wrap her leg.

It was kind of hurting.

And she wanted mittens, too.

She rolled her head to the other side. There was this massive form of red and black, with blurry pointy bits, leaning over her.

"Whoa."


	24. Chapter 24

_"_ _Dear Aunt Andy,_

 _Blacklight is fun._ _Grandma Nidarue is fun._ _She likes to praktise writing too."_

Andy stretched her left leg out. She had constructed a sort of primitive brace, although it was probably a million years ahead of any type of physical therapy this planet had to offer. She was sitting on a heavily fluffed up chair, balancing her mail in her lap, while her leg was propped up on another chair adjascent to hers. The Falmer did a pretty good number on it. They had managed to tear some of the pins out in the process of transporting her to "the feeding pit".

Senna, as priestess of "Dibella" (a local religion, of sorts), offered to come do more healing on her leg. Andy politely refused the offer; she had had enough of random hands touching her. Plus, the priestesses were a legal version of high-class escorts. She didn't really want _that_ kind of healing.

Through more of this "restoration magic", they had managed to heal the damaged bone from her car accident twelve years ago, rendering the need for all the metal in her useless. She suddenly got the vision of bits of metal floating around inside her, and shuttered. Repairing old damage took _a lot_ more "magic" to accomplish, and required a hefty amount of R &R.

Just the leg though, not the hip. She vaguely remembers spewing an idle threat about "ripping your balls out through your throat" to Brother Verulus, if he "got too frisky".

But she was very, _very_ high at the time, and he seriously needed to get over it.

 _"_ _Rommes cries a lot._ _It is ahnoyeing."_

Bless her heart.

 _"_ _Mom and Dad say we will stay here longer._ _I miss you._

 _Love,_

 _Lucia"_

She teared up a bit. Lucia's letter was enclosed in the same envelope that Michelle's letter was in. It was written in English.

 _"_ _Dear Andy,_

 _I hope you're doing well in Markarth._ _We heard you gave Argis a vacation._ _He needed one._ _Did you think he's hot?_ _I do."_

Andy rolled her eyes.

 _"_ _The 'mother-in-law' is okay._ _Apparently, Valdras came from a pretty wealthy and powerful family in Morrowind._ _He never told me, the jerk._ _She seems to be handling my unorthodox entry into her 'social circle' pretty well though._ _She loves Rommes and Lucia, and that is really all that matters to me._

 _We will be staying here a few more months before heading back to Whiterun._ _I expect you to start pulling together a bridal shower and bachelorette party._ _Remember: NO NERDS._

 _Love,_

 _Michelle_

 _P.S. – Have you heard from Miraak?_ _Valdras wanted me to ask you._ _He's concerned, because, well, you know why._ _There have been strange rumors."_

She put the letter down on the table in front of her. There was a cane propped up next to her that she used to steady herself while her leg healed. She pushed up, and balanced her weight a bit with the cane, then proceeded to limp towards the bathroom.

Yeah, she had heard from him.

The door opened, and a tall, commanding figure entered. The ridiculous armor from Spawn had, thankfully, been changed out for something less terrifying: a white tunic, some slacks, and tall leather boots.

And it was obnoxiously attractive.

She turned back towards her current goal of taking a piss. This "distraction" would need to wait, until further notice.

It was Miraak that found her, half dead, hanging over a pile of crusted "chaurus" eggs, in the depths of that shithole of a ruin. Andy was going to need a well deserved break from anything "Dwemer" for awhile, unless it came with a flame thrower, an AK-47, and a nuclear bomb. According to Faleen (who she had apparently insisted on calling "Mary" in her high state), Miraak had emerged from the ruins carrying her bridal style, and proceeded to heal her until Brother Verulus arrived.

He had also put a choke hold on Ondolemar, which Andy would have loved to see.

Faleen agreed. It had been pretty satisfying to watch.

There was one good thing that came out of that horrific event, though. Faleen and Calcelmo were now "an item". She guessed that the near death experience for the old man made him finally get the nerve to tell her how he felt.

She sighed.

There was no flushing mechanism with the stone "toilet", but the constant flow of water took away the waste, depositing it into an underground sewage system, of sorts. There was also no door. During her first day in Markarth, she had woken to the sight of a semi-naked Argis, leaning over the hole, relieving himself, after waiting over five minutes for his giant erection to go down.

She had tacked some blankets up in the meantime, while floor screens were on back order with Lisbet.

Back out in the main area, Miraak had prostrated himself in _her_ chair, with his legs folded at his ankles. He was reading her mail.

 _What the hell…_

She limped over as fast as she could with her cane, half tempted to start waving it like some crazy old man that was shooing teenagers off their lawn. He didn't even bother to make eye contact. She snatched the letters out of his hands.

"Quit being nosy, Snake Plissken."

He had decided to stay with her while she recovered from her injuries. Whether or not she wanted him to, was not his concern. The sooner she came to terms with their arrangement, the easier it would get for her.

However, he found her quite _amusing_ , when toyed with.

He let his arms drop on his chest, as she threw the letter from Valdras' mate on the table. He had already deciphered most of what it said.

He was no fool. He had spent thousands of years studying every known langauge known to Oblivion, and had previously reviewed some of her translation attempts during their brief stay together in Apocrypha.

"So she is assimilating into his family, I take it."

She popped an eyebrow, "you read English?"

Ah, so that's what her language is called.

"No." It was a half-truth. He couldn't read it _proficiently,_ yet.

She gave him an unenthused look. "Right, you just read people instead."

"Far better than you could imagine."

She put her right hand on the bridge of her nose, and squeezed.

He picked the letter back up, and continued:

"My name is at the bottom here, near Valdras'. I presume he inquired about my whereabouts."

She looked at him.

"Yeeeessssss." She slowly pulled the letter out of his hands, for the second time. "Apparently Michelle and I are going to have to create English spellings of your names."

He gave her a devious smirk.

She turned around, limping in the direction of the bedroom. He had a great smile. That was really, really unfair.

"What will you tell them?"

Without missing a beat, "Who's Miraak? I only know a Arngald Trollbrand."

Miraak had been in Morrowind, which immediately made her nervous due to the little "incident" back at the Bannered Mare. No doubt, the rumors Valdras probably heard was from Miraak's Goonies-styled adventure. He had not asked her to keep quiet about where he had been, and what he had been up to, but she sort had a _feeling_ like it was information to be shared only between her and him. Not her business to tell others.

He laughed, getting up to follow her.

Damnit.

She stared at the bowl on the table where she had put her phone and a few other electronics (bluetooth headphones, her fitbit, etc.). How long had it been since she'd been with anyone? Was it just that? Did she find the bowl attractive too?

It was pretty smooth and hard.

When the phone had started to charge that one day, Calcelmo insisted on taking it apart to "find out what drove it". She decided to never speak of anything else she owned after that, and made sure to tell him that she "accidently broke the contraption while attempting to deconstruct it". He was disappointed, but never asked about it again.

She cracked her laptop open. She had set up a sort of Tesla version of a charging station on the table in the bedroom; which was comprised of a pile of those energy crystals in a box. She was pretty sure she would start growing a third arm relatively soon.

She liked to keep a daily log of her research, as well as any significant discoveries, since she got her laptop functioning again. It beat the hand cramps from trying to write with a feather. Since the lens on her phone had busted, she was forced to draw anything for future reference. She had constructed crude, wooden forms of binders, where she had put all of her written short hand notes and drawings. The ledges of the bedroom were becoming full.

She had never shown people, outside of Calcelmo and his nephew, any of her "technology". She realized that asking Moth to make bullets had been a very careless action. This world didn't have the weapons hers did, and frankly, was better off for it. Her gun had been lost in the depths of the abandoned ruins, and hopefully gone forever. It had crossed her mind that she might get singled out one day, by some crazy dictator, trying to one up his enemy by demanding that she develop horrible and powerful weapons.

Like the one currently leaning all sexy in the doorway.

"What is that, exactly."

"Remnants of either a future or dead civilization, depending on your perception of time and space."

Then there was him, he knew about her shit. That didn't bother her though. He _had_ known since she first came to this world, and he had never done anything.

In fact, this was the first time he had ever shown interest.

"I have theorized that, even if I were to return to my world, that it would be nothing like what it was when I left. This is another planet, most likely another galaxy, although I do not possess the knowledge or tools to verify that claim. Regardless, the time it would normally take to travel such a distance would be…immense, even if it was only an instant for my physical self. Just the Milky Way itself is over 100,000 light years across."

She sighed.

"My world may very well be gone, right now, at this very moment," she said, tapping the desk, "swallowed up by the swelling star it once orbited."

"Or maybe I'll loop backwards and re-emerge on Earth during the Mesozoic era, get trampled by a herd of Brontosauri. The possibilities are _endless_." She waved her hands in the air.

He sat in the chair across from her, and moved the strange item to face him, trying to understand what its function was. He saw her language illuminated in the background. It was her recount of her run in with the Falmer.

"The closer you travel to the speed of light, the more the fundamentals of physics breaks down. You may exist, for one second, but everything else around you will have aged for thousands of years."

He stared blankly at the screen. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It's a theory, at least."

An idea popped in her head. She leaned in, very close to him…a sarcastic grin plastered her face.

"Why are you here?"

She couldn't resist.

"For a little…vis-à-vis?"

She reached out, lightly nicking his chin and making a "tsk" sound.

The anticipation was thick. He looked at her, locking eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Her pulse sped up, and she subconsciously bit her bottom lip.

He turned back to the illuminated screen, obviously more fascinated by Microsoft Word.

Oh well, the moment was exciting while it lasted.

She yawned.

Standing up on her right leg, she leaned over a bit and gave him a quick peck on his cheek, rubbing his arm. It was a form of endearment. Her grandparents would do the same thing to her and her brother as kids. She found herself doing it with Lucia, Michelle…even Valdras. As much as she hated to admit it, she owed this man her life.

"I'm tired. Goodnight, _Mr. Trollbrand_."

She laughed internally. _Arngald Trollbrand_? What in the world was he thinking.

She hobbled over to the bed, blowing out the lantern. She kicked off her pants and proceeded to take off the now painful brace. Red welts had started to develop on her thighs.

Oww. It definitely needed some adjustments.

She let out a hiss, and laid back on the bed, tunic scrunched up at her waist. She didn't care, her fucking leg had decided to try and rupture her nervous system.

He had been sleeping in Argis' room for the past week, but his respect for privacy had been even worse than before. She quit letting it bother her, and just went about her normal activities, whether he was there or not. She figured that maybe his original society had been more like the Greeks or Romans, where privacy wasn't a big deal.

Spartacus popped in her mind. Oh yeah, and _constant sex_.

She felt something large and warm on her thigh. A low glow, once again, emanated from his hand, and the soothing feeling returned, easing the pain.

She laid down with a thump, spreading her arms out and growling, her way too long hair already forming tangles.

Did she just _growl_? Nah.

"I suppose you've noticed the scars."

The soothing feeling continued.

"When I was younger, I was in a…'contraption', that would take you great distances, in a very short amount of time. The only problem was when these contraptions collided with each other."

Her leg was starting to feel _marvelous_.

"The doctors had to operate while I was still unconscious. Those are where they made the incisions; where I was cut open, then stitched back. My hip shattered, my leg was pulled from the socket and fractured in four places. I have _a lot_ metal in me."

The light was gone.

"I know, my cyborg body turns you on so much, you're speechless."

She laughed. Affects of the healing again. This was way better than any of Ri'saad's shit. Wait, was "cyborg" a term they had here? Oh well.

The hand moved. She bent the leg back and forth a few times testing the flexibility, and found that all the pain was gone. Maybe she _should_ have let the prostitute heal her? She yanked her tunic down, and pulled the blanket over her body. He had figured out how to shut the laptop, so the room was dark.

Her eyelids got heavy.

Then sprung wide open when she felt the covers lift up.

An arm reached around her waist, pulling her straight into the contours of his body. She felt his hot breathe on her neck. Her senses were on overload. She felt her body respond, in the form of another low growl.

That…that's not normal.

He licked her.


	25. Chapter 25

Andy had just experienced her first one night stand.

She took a sip of her "morning coffee", which was a very strong form of the local tea. She was leaning against the door frame in her own version of a house robe and a pair of thick wool socks…hair haphazardly thrown up in a messy bun. The empty bed was a clusterfuck of crumpled sheets, pillows, and God knows what array of biological fluids. Pieces of a shattered vase littered the floor by the desk.

The corner near the entrance to the house, where he placed his bag and armor, was empty.

Guess he didn't want to deal with the awkward conversations that followed "the morning after".

She took another sip. On the table near the entrance was an ornate box, with some sort of pitiful excuse of a flower next to it. She interpreted it as the "hey, sorry we had sex, but here's some tacky bullshit to make up for me splitting, because there's no way I'm going to get stuck with you publically" gift. It was still there, untouched.

She was debating between throwing it out, or burning it.

She put some pressure on the aching, bandaged part of her shoulder. He, honest to God, had bit her at some point; enough that it bleed like a bitch and would probably leave a scar.

This is why she didn't date.

A soft rapt sounded on the door. She took another sip of tea, casually walking over to open it. The bright light from the rising sun flooded the room, making her squint.

"Hey, don't you melt in the sun or something?"

Serena lowered her eyebrows, giving Andy a skeptical frown. "No, but standing in it isn't good for my complexion, either."

[-]

"What's in the box."

"I don't know, and I definitely do not care", Andy yelled from the bedroom. She was trying to put all the sheets into a large bag, so she could go burn them in Ghorza's forge.

The box was Ayleid in construction. Blue gems illuminated the hexagonal edges. White ivory had been painstakingly inlaid into the rare metal.

The box, by itself, was worth a fortune.

The flower he had left her was a yellow mountain flower, a common ingredient used when fortifying health potions. It was a sweet notion. Vilkas had given her many boquets of these during their on and off romance. Serena slowly turned the edges of the box, until it sprung open.

Her jaw dropped, fangs poking out.

It was Stalhrim, encased in an intricate hollow cage made of ebony. It connected to a delicately formed ebony chain, of more than a hundred or so perfect loops.

She had never seen this material be cut as a gem. It was one of the hardest materials known; extremely difficult to mine and almost impossible to work with. Only master craftsman have managed weapons and armor from it, and those have been large pieces. It radiated power when she touched it. A dim light glowed inside, casting a million sparkles through the holes of it's ebony casing, onto the walls of the house.

It was a heavy protection enchantment, with a couple of other powerful spells mixed in that Serena couldn't quite identify. This was beyond priceless; it was an artifact to rival the those of the Daedric Lords. She couldn't fathom how many years, maybe even lifetimes, it would take to craft something like this.

Andy came out of the bedroom, dragging a large bag behind her. She leaned over Serena's shoulder, coffee cup still in hand. She tapped the beautiful amulet, then frowned.

"Bastard doesn't even know my eyes are green, not blue."

[-]

Lightning made contact with the Dwarven Centurion, shattering it's soul gem, and rendering it non-functional. He looked over to see fire encase the few spiders sprawled out on the floor, echoing their mechanical death throes, as blackened charred legs twitched erratically.

His Dunmer companion was quite an effecient killer.

Miraak had been in contact with Valdras, long before Andrea had received her cousin's letter. Valdras knew he had been in Morrowind, and that he was heading to Markarth. Miraak had also heard the rumors.

But the rumors were not what the two females had presumed.

Dark whispers had started to echo even darker tidings: the rebirth of Lorkhan's heart.

The Nerevarine had died during the Oblivion crisis, although that was not common knowledge. Vivec had disappeared, long before. This left scattered fanatics free to plot new means of continuing their distorted and deranged directives. The sacking of Mournhold, by the Argonians, had fueled further discontent with those longing for the days once beheld by their Chimer ancestors.

That fool in Winterhold had managed to find one of Kagrenac's tools. He had not propelled himself towards the same fate as the Dwemer, but instead had found himself upon an alter in the Llunibi Caverns, surrounded by those more than eager to "relieve him" of Keening.

They discovered Arniel Gane's mutilated body near Gnaar Mok, dumped outside for the cliff racers to feast on.

They were currently in a small camp to the east of Marandus, outside of the remains of Piran. Most of it had been destroyed during ereuption, but there was a small passage, still accessible. They were going to explore if the previously caved-in portions had been shifted since the eruption. This might give them an advantage to delve deeper into the extent of the cult's activities, and stop whatever progress they had made.

Blight no longer existed, but the harsh winds still cut through skin and bone. The two Dragonborns were leaning up against an outcrop, faces wrapped to shelter the brutal environment.

Valdras poked the embers of their small fire, trying to keep the flame alive.

"Did you tell her."

The wind died a little, and a couple of crackles from the fire echoed in the small ravine.

"No."

His thoughts slipped back to that night over a month ago…

 _His hand was making a slow and tormenting path from her inner thigh, eventually hooking a finger around her undergarment and sliding them down._

 _Her hands were buried in his long, unbound hair._ _His mouth was leaving light nibbles down her neck as she moaned, arching towards him._

 _As his hand returned, he slid a finger past the damp curls, into her slick folds._ _A loud mewl escaped her lips._

 _His clothes were already off, he had removed them before getting into bed with her._ _He hefted her tunic off with his free arm, then lightly ghosted his thumb over an erect nipple. The right hand continued to make the slow, steady movements of thrusting._ _He felt her walls start to contract, and her breathing get more rapid._

 _"Ni tul lokaal"_

 _She growled, eyes giving a light aura of blue that she was unaware of._

 _She was ready, she was impatient._

 _And she was also fertile._

 _He had sensed it._ _It was his true motivation in staying._ _He would make up the lost week by cutting through Rorikstead, skipping Falkreath._

 _He lifted her up, and laid her back down into a better position._ _Hooking his arm under her right leg, he leaned forward to gently spread her out._

 _Slowly, he entered._ _He heard a soft, and almost pained, whine in his ear._ _He gave her a few moments to adjust, before slowly rocking his hips forward._

 _She cried out, gripping on his shoulders, raspy hot breaths rolling over the sweat on his neck._

 _He picked up the pace, going deeper with each thrust._ _She was tight...wet. He growled, sinking his teeth into her shoulder._

 ** _Mine._**

 _She screamed, wrapping her legs around him as her body convulsed in rhythm with his._ _His hot seed spilled deep inside her; a guttural, inhuman roar resonated from within his chest._

 _He lifted his head up from where it had fallen into the nook of her neck, still panting for breath._ _Tears were streaming down her cheeks._ _He wiped a few away._

 _She cradled his head in her hands and kissed him softly._

 _Throughout the night, she willingly gave him her body, and he selfishly took it._

 _Before the first rays of sunlight had crept into the waking world, the stables were already in the distance behind him…_

Valdras wiped his hands clean, then moved back to his seat next to a deep-in-thought Miraak. He pulled the cloth away from his face long enough to take a swig of sujamma.

As much as he enjoyed being back in his homeland, this region was definitely as pleasant as the ass end of a guar.

"Did you mention it to your mate?"

He took another swig of his drink.

"If there is one thing I've learned about Michelle, it's that she is unable to keep her mouth shut. I did not."

Andy wasn't a Dragonborn in the sense that he and Miraak were, but she had been infused with a soul of a dragon, regardless. She was also unable to absorb souls. Valdras had found this out from Paarthurnax, when he had stopped on his way to meet up with Miraak in Windhelm.

He told Michelle that he had business in Solitude, but asked her to stay at his mothers. It took a lot of convincing, but she finally agreed. It was the safest place he could put them. His mother was a master conjurer. She would slaughter millions before anything laid a finger on her loved ones.


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: I used the website: . , for dragon language translations. It will pop in and out of the forthcoming chapters.

Enjoy! :)

[-][-][-][-][-]

She ran her hands along the old oak finish of the piano. It had been her grandmother's. The warm memories of her summer vacations with them swelled to the surface. She smiled fondly.

Lifting the casement, she popped her knuckles and started with something slow and haunting; Moonlight Sonata. She had taken piano lessons for years, and continued after her grandmother had died. She closed her eyes…the movements and hand positions came naturally.

She loved music, but was, at best, adequate. One of her childhood friends, Mark, had went on to eventually earn a spot with the New York Philharmonic. Whenever she was in the area, she would always try her best to see him, usually getting a free pass to sit in on a practice session.

"You underestimate your talent."

Keys slammed, and a series of wrong notes resonated briefly. She looked around. Her apartment was empty, nothing out of place or different: the window with the crack in its left pane; the hole where Angela had accidently punched her phone through the wall…drunk.

She felt a body rub her pajama pants.

"Well good morning to you too, Lord of the Mice. Does his majesty require sustenance?"

Lucky meowed in response, and slowly padded towards the kitchen. She had brought him home from the pound over two years ago. He was already an old cat, but his owner had died…their kids wanting nothing to do with the lovable fur ball.

She had to up her inhaler usage, but it was well worth it.

The lights flickered on in her tiny kitchen. This was the first place of her own. Andy had tired of roommates and the drama that came with them. It was a cozy one bedroom on the western outskirts of the city. A bit of a hike, but having her own space was well worth the commute.

It was all she needed, she didn't own a lot of things, and preferred it that way.

She popped another cup in the Kureg, setting her mug underneath before hitting Start. Opening up the bottom cupboard, she hauled Lucky's giant bag of food out, giving the already fat cat a heaping amount.

Swiping her mug, she breathed in the smell of not so great mocha. It'll do.

Walking back to the living room, she glanced over by the window again.

"Ahh!", she dropped her mug.

There was a man, sitting on her couch, legs crossed on the coffee table. He was wearing the same tunic and pants from the last time she saw him.

" ** _You_** …"

She went back in the kitchen to grab a towel, and threw it down on top of her shattered cup.

"You. OUT. I don't care how you got here, out of my house!"

Why was he there? He wasn't real. It was all a bad dream.

"Your house?"

The scenery changed, and she found herself standing in an expansive great room made of stone. Statues of dragon heads poked out from the side columns, lifting the weight of the large, arched dome above her head. Torches aligned the walls, and great stone basins of fires were strung from the ceiling by chains.

In front if her, the man was seated on an ornate stone throne. He was nonchalantly stretched out, propped up on the left arm of the chair.

She looked down at her bare feet. She was still in her SpongeBob pajamas.

"Welcome…to **_my house_**."

Disgust painted her face. She turned around to walk off.

Except…there were no doors. Or windows. There was nothing. Even further pissed, she went back to the man, now standing.

He was wearing a long robe, with fine embroidery and adornments of silver. A mask covered his face, but it was different than the one he wore when she first met him. It had sharp angles, filling a more hardened, elliptical shape, with hollowed eyes. It radiated a bluish aura.

"Have you realized what this is, dii lovaas lokraan."

She had no idea what that meant, and didn't care. He was looming over her…almost mockingly.

"Yeah, I figured it out." She grabbed his arms and rammed her knee in his crotch.

Miraak woke up in pain, coughing. Across the camp fire, Valdras raised an eyebrow, then shook his head and turned over on his bedroll.

[-]

Andy had her fill of Markarth, and everything that went along with it. Argis had finally returned, and to her surprised, with a violin in his hands. The Bard's college was thrilled when they saw her pathetic attempt at a blueprint, and went about crafting it immediately.

She pulled it out of the special box they had made. They even threw in some rosin, and she quickly went about spreading it on her bow.

The piece glided across the strings.

Perfect. The sound was deep and rich. The notes flew off her hands as she did a small portion of Bach's Chaconne. They echoed in the massive fortress, granting an even more eerie and bombast presence to the few new trainees, practicing in the depths below.

Satisfied, she put it back in the case.

She had agreed to travel with Serena to Dawnguard's strong hold, south east of Riften. Serena was itching to get back to them and report on a new vampire den she had stumbled across in the Reach. Andy had been eager to get away from the bad memories that seemed to litter that cursed town.

She touched the pendant hanging off her neck.

Serena had talked her into wearing the goddamn thing, because of some "magic properties" it apparently resonated.

She didn't feel any different wearing it. _Maybe more stupid_.

She had sold the box it came in to that old scrooge in Markarth. Usually he was tight fisted and greedy, the type to squeeze a turd out of a buffalo nickel, but when she walked in tossing the box on the counter, he basically started pouring gold coins over her head out of buckets.

Guess it was some sort priceless piece of shit, after all.

It felt like dirty money. She told Serena to take whatever she wanted, and instructed Thonar to send the rest to Calcelmo, to help fund his research efforts. Andy had always made her own way in life, and worked just like everyone else. She didn't need to leech off of some arrogant pirate that felt guilty over a bad decision to roll in the hay with her.

Even though it had been the best roll she'd ever taken in hay. She grabbed at the scar on her shoulder.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. In walked Serena and Vilkas. He had met up with them outside Falkreath during their carriage ride from Markarth to Dawnguard, and insisted on "escorting two beautiful ladies to their destination".

She had physically gagged after the words left his mouth.

"We're heading into Riften, interested?"

She really wasn't. Riften smelled like the inside of a port-a-john on the Fourth of July. Not to mention it was crawling with gangs and shoplifters. However, the lingering thoughts in her mind begged for a distraction, even if that distraction came in the form of a sewer city.

In the absence of her gun, she had been introduced to the "Dwemer Crossbow". She even modified the bolt heads for a larger impact, which would cause additional tearing (the original ones were designed more for target practice, and not for killing). It was about as close as she'd get to her old weapon.

According to Serena, Valdras had discovered the ancient blueprints and handed them over to the illuminati group to replicate. This was a few years back when her and Valdras would travel together constantly, to the bane of Michelle. Serena would laugh, saying "Michelle thought we were having an affair, and I woke up one morning surrounded in garlic cloves."

The crossbow was strapped across her back as they entered the inn. She felt very Robin Hood'ish.

The Men in Tights version, but Robin Hood, none the less.

They sat down at the table. Vilkas had wanted to come and talk to the blacksmith about repairing his weapon. He had banged it up good while trying to assist training the Dawnguard initiates the other day. Apparently he had a love affair with his two-handed great sword, and the Dawnguard blacksmith wasn't worthy enough to touch such a _priceless relic_. The one in Riften was not near as good as what Whiterun employed, but he was much better than what Dawnguard offered, at least, according to Tweedle-dick.

She caught a pair of green eyes staring at her.

Oh no. _Not him_.

"Oh shit…Serena, we're married."

Serena's eyes almost popped out of her head. "What?!"

A shadow filled up the right side of her vision.

"Aye lass, fancy meeting you here."

Andy looked up slowly, with her best attempt to fake a smile. "Why, yes, _fancy meeting you here too_."

It was Brynjolf: this planet's equivalent to a human dog. She imagined that he had no less than five STDs at any given moment. He was also shady and a thief. She put her hand over her front pocket, for good measure. This was not her first run in with the red-head, and she knew she wasn't lucky enough for it to be the last.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Mason? And, lass, who is this _lovely lady_ next to you?"

He delicately lifted Serena's hand, kissing the top of it. " _Charmed_." Serena had quite the "unenthused" look.

"This is my _wife_. We decided to come here to get married."

He dropped Serena's hand, doing a double take between the two.

"Oh wow, lass, uh, well, congrats is in order?" His eyebrows were partially raised. It seemed like he wanted to make an immediate exit, since what he came over for had instantly disappeared. Andy smiled on the inside, satisfied that her ruse worked.

The luck she thought she possessed took a quick flush down the toilet once Tweedle-dick decided to barge back in the bar, pulling up a chair to Serena, and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Balimund said he'd be done with it before the end of the day."

Andy face palmed. She didn't even bother to look up.

" _Married_ , huh lass?"

She let her head thump on the table. "It's complicated."


	27. Chapter 27

He did not particularly desire to come near the Blue Palace. The locals had long held rumors of a mysterious haunting. The western corridor had been closed off from the public, and even most of the occupants, for decades. The servants were terrified.

It would take more than disillusioned apparitions to unnerve him. He had seen his fair share of nightmarish horrors during his time in Apocrypha. However, he was in no rush to become tangled up with another Daedric Lord.

Sheogorath had staked claim on the once mad emperor, and his influence was still felt within the walls of the palace itself.

He was cautious and remained in the foyer, while his Dunmer companion spoke with the General and High Queen. They had just stepped off the boat from Tel Fyr, and Miraak still adorned his daedric mage armor.

Some cretin which claimed to be a "noble" was prattering away next to him. "How could the High Queen agree to have audience with such a commoner! I have been patiently waiting since earlier this morning."

Miraak slowly leaned across his chair. The noble's mouth shut, and his eyes went wide with terror. Miraak ran a gloved finger across the neck, causing a slight red mark to persist, as he made a diagonal pathway across the man's throat.

"In my time…we would rip the throats out of those who had the audacity to speak ill-will of their betters."

He leaned back, satisfied with the new found silence.

"You know I can't lend you any soldiers, Valdras. The best I can do is put you in contact with the Penitus Oculatus in the Imperial City, but even that has become a nightmare since the emporer's assassination."

Valdras was leaning over the table next to General Tullius. They had discovered what he had feared: the Sixth House had returned.

They had managed to stop a ritual in Piran, deep within the newly opened cave system. The cultists were infusing various Daedra with the soul essences left from Dagoth Ur's ash vampires. The body of Dagoth Ur was never recovered from deep within red mountain. It appears the fanatics had snatched it shortly after his defeat by the Neverarine, as well any shreds left of the heart.

The end goal was clear: they were going to resurrect Dagoth Ur with the power of a god.

"What about Chedynhal? Can you put a blockade on the border?"

The general looked at the region on the map.

"Possible, but we would be stretched thin. We cannot ignore the threat from the Thalmor to the west. Winning the civil war in Skyrim was a blow to their plans, but they are still patiently waiting for weak points to appear along our lines."

He tapped by Riften. "What about your friends in the Dawnguard?"

Valdras scratched his fast growing beard. "Possible, I will need to make a trip there and speak with my associates."

"Let me know what comes of it. In the meantime, I'll write to my contacts back at the White Gold Tower. Perhaps there are some extra legionnaires we can 'borrow' for a quick and silent infiltration job."

Valdras walked down the silent streets of Solitude. It had been a long and treacherous journey across the frigid waters. He thought back to Michelle, to _his wife_. It had been over two months since he left her on his mother's doorstep in Blacklight, holding their baby in her arms.

What they found in Piran unnerved him. Even with his mother protecting his wife and child, he was tempted to move her out of the daedra-forsaken province and to Windhelm. His gut feeling was that it was a safer location. Once the cultists recovered from their recent blow, they would no doubt come seeking revenge in any possible means. Their position held many sympathizers in his homeland, unfortunately.

Valdras walked down the spiral stairs case, deep in thought. He reached in front of Miraak, still patiently situated in the foyer.

Funny, he was pretty sure that man was yelling when he first walked in.

"I'm sorry my friend, but I am afraid our travels are not over. We will need to ride to Riften."

Miraak merely nodded.

[-]

The dreams returned, and each time, more vivid. It felt like her memories were being extracted, then manipulated. Things that would never be but a hazy, brief image, were suddenly crystal clear.

She found herself sitting on a bench, outside of the Museum of Fine Arts in downtown Houston. She remembered this…it was a few years ago. She had been put on brief assignment with an oil rigging project off the gulf coast. Her and her coworker had decided to meet up and check out what the downtown had to offer.

Mike was late. That's right, he was currently fighting with his wife, and would forget.

She stood up, pulling her plaid skirt down. It was a bit chilly, and she stuck her hands in her purple cardigan pockets. She wore flats accompanied with black tights. It was her attempt to branch away from the constant jeans with clunky steel toes.

She might as well as head in and see what else her dream had in store.

Random faces of people passed by. She felt the cool handle of the entrance door and pulled, smelling the metallic foyer with its acoustic vacuum, before heading in thru another set of glass doors.

She turned to the right, and up to the ticket counter. "Just one, normal access."

Suddenly a hand showed up next to hers on the counter. "Two; we would like to see the Degas Exhibition, as well."

She didn't even turn to see who it was. The unnamed clerk handed them their wrist bands. Andy took one and walked away.

A maze of pathways passed by. Everything felt so real and detailed; it was incredible. She couldn't explain how it was a dream, or even part of her memory.

"Los hi tul rahgron, dii lovaas lokraan?"

She stopped, turning slowly around. He was standing there, with modern day clothing. Jeans and a blue zip up sweater. His hair was cut shorter and swept back. Two blue eyes stared back.

Huh. Well that's definitely different.

"You keep saying that. What does it mean?"

He walked over to her slowly, lifting his hand up to lightly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. A smile crossed his lips.

"My song bird."

Ok, that was a pretty smooth move, she'd give him that.

Snapping out of it, she readjusted her face to a serious tone.

"Why did you leave?"

His fingers slipped through her hair, along her jaw, then nicked her chin again with a "tsk".

He walked past her. She rolled her eyes, and lagged a few paces behind.

He stopped in front of Degas' "The Dance Class", and reached out his hand to touch the canvas. She immediately snatched it.

"Hey, you can't do that. You'll damage the painting, and get us thrown out."

He looked at her.

"Oh…"

She slowly let go. It all seems so real...

"I find your world fascinating," he said, as he ran a long finger along the brush strokes. "It was quite unexpected…the knowledge you hold should make you equal to the Gods themselves."

Disappointment shadowed her face.

"I guess it's a good thing you're fucking around inside my head then."

He turned to her, with a thoughtful expression.

"I did not abandon you, Andrea."

She held up her hand, closing her eyes, "look, I'm over it. I was just as much at fault."

He cautiously reached out, pulling her to him.

"You misunderstand."

He intertwined their hands.

"We are bonded. I cannot abandon you, even if I were to be foolish enough to consider such a fallacy. The blood that flows through me…flows through you."

He smiled sweetly.

"It will flow through our children."

She snorted.

"Yes, _I'm sure it will_."

She really wasn't taking any of this conversation at face value. Andy had heard a lot of bullshit in her time, and this was no different. However, she was more intrigued on what was currently happening.

"How does this work, anyways?" She looked around the room. "If it is based solely off of my memories, then there should be a lot more…missing."

She turned towards the painting, cocking an eyebrow.

"I also know very little about Degas." She couldn't remember but just a brief image of the painting, yet here it was, in exquisite detail.

"The mind is an incredible tool. It can retain almost an infinite amount of information."

She shot him a sly look from the side. "Am I able to trespass into your psyche as well?"

"Yes. Although, it takes many years to perfect what I am doing at this moment, but technically, yes, our connection works both ways. It has since you arrived, but it has strengthened recently."

"Why? Because we had sex?"

A devious smile formed. "That helped, yes."

Her sly smirk turned into a frown. "Will I ever see you again?"

"You see me now, do you not?" He tilted his head, still maintaining a sarcastic grin.

"You know that's not what I meant, smart ass."

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

"Soon."

She woke up.


	28. Chapter 28

Andy found herself leaning over the upper railing of the second floor of the Dawnguard tower, once again, reflecting on her current situation. It had been roughly a month and Serena seemed content to stay there. It wasn't like Andy had any other place to be. She was stuck in a strange world, with limited employment options.

Vilkas was also content to stick around as well. It seemed that he was quickly falling head over heals for the illustrious "Lady of the Night". Andy always had a weird vibe about him, though. While he wasn't a vampire, she got the feeling that the Companions were, as a whole, how her grandma would say "not quite right".

A man named Isran was the de facto leader in charge of the Dawnguard. He was…well, an asshole. Her presence hadn't been well received. He grumbled about the "extra mouth to feed" and how she was "too weak to even wipe her own ass". That was really his fault though. Andy had told him, no less than, seven times that the giant warhammer might be too heavy.

"Nonsense girl, you're a Nord." Wrong. "You have the leg muscle to support a strong stance." Wrong. "Now swing!"

She ended up slipping on the wet floor trying to lift the giant weapon, falling flat on her back. He put his hand on his forehead, while Tweedle-dick blurted out a loud laugh, followed by an elbow in the gut from Serena.

Isran had previously been a part of a local religious cult, worshiping one of the billion pagan gods that existed on this planet. They were self-proclaimed vampire hunters; not quite John Carpenter style, but close enough. However, he was all about brawn and smashing things…in particularly vampires. Can't smash? Get out of his sight.

After failing the smashing test, Andy had been put on the Repair Squad (the old tower had some minor wear and tear), as well as being a runner for supplies. This routinely brought her to downtown Riften twice a week. During her various trips, she found herself spending a good amount of time with a local jeweler named Madesi. He was phenomenal with cutting gems.

He was also a talking lizard.

This wasn't the first one she had seen. The owners of the Bee and Barb happened to be a lizard couple. In fact, when she first arrived in Windhelm, the dock was full of them. She remembers screaming "it's Godzilla, run!", to the bane of Michelle.

She would stare at Madesi's facial features, wondering how the hell it all came together. It was far more incredible than the cat people. Cats were much closer on the evolutionary tree to humans than lizards were, although still very Dr. Monroe'ish.

All lizard folk, who went by the racial term "Argonian" (or Saxhleel, among themselves), had mouths packed full of razor sharp teeth. She wondered why they even fought with weapons, and didn't simply bite people's heads off? Were they cold blooded? Did their metabolism change with temperature? Did it limit their respiratory functions?

So many questions…

Madesi and her first struck up a conversation, weeks ago, when she walked by with Vilkas, who was on his way to pick up his weapon from the blacksmith. The Argonian waved her down from his shop stand, pointing to the necklace around her neck.

"My lady, where did you ever acquire such a fantastic piece?"

She frowned a bit. "1-900-Regrets"

He looked at her confused. Or at least she thinks that's what the look was. It's a bit challenging to read lizard facial expressions.

"It was apparently a parting gift."

"Such a shame for it to be tarnished with such unhappy memories. Tis truly a fantastic item, my lady. I can sense deep enchantments too. Whoever gave this to you did not do it carelessly or without meaning."

Yes… _I bet_.

Over the next few weeks she would hand him the pendant to study. Apparently, it was "enchanted ice", and one of the most difficult materials in the world to work with. He had never seen one cut to such precision. Her curiosity peaked a bit; Miraak didn't really strike her as the arts and crafts type of guy. Why waste so much effort on a one-night stand gift?

Maybe the dreams she was having _were_ real, in a figurative sense. Maybe that was him, sort of…visiting her? She scoffed to herself. That was simply ridiculous. Just her mind trying to compensate for being dumped by a sociopath.

[-]

Andy found herself in the sewers…like, the _actual_ sewers, of Riften. Brynjolf had talked Serena into coming down to some total dive of a bar; _the Ragged Flagon_. In a sewer. A fucking…sewer. This is why she was sick ever since coming to this god forsaken piss bucket of a town. A couple of slime balls were hitting on Serena at the "bar". If Tweedle-dick saw this…man. Carnage of biblical proportions would be had.

She had positioned herself as far away from these people as she could. Sitting on a splintered, wooden bench, she was staring intensely at the frizzy, split ends of her hair. It was ridiculously long now. She needed it cut, her sanity depended on it. She spent way too long trying to restrain it out of her face, and pulling it on the various shoulder straps.

"Hmm, I suppose I can work with your face. After all, the sculptor cannot always choose the finest clay."

Some elf was staring at her from under a tattered hood.

"Excuse me?"

"I assumed you were here to see me about your face. To have it sculpted into something more... artful than Nature has bestowed upon you."

Andy immediately touched her face. What the fuck was wrong with it? She knew her nose was a little crooked, but that was when she got in that fight in junior high. Besides, they were in a sewer. This lady couldn't be serious.

"Why would you set up shop down _here_?"

"I have not always been a ragged beggar. I learned my art from the masters of the art of flesh sculpture. I studied with the Faculty of Chirurgeons in Cloudrest. I walked with the Hollow-Faced Men of Nohotogrha for three years. I count the nobility of both the Empire and the Dominion among my clients. And yet, I have fallen so low that I must justify myself to a wanderer in the sewers of this backwater of the world."

My, my, _aren't we_ _fancy_. An idea popped in her head. Andy looked at her hair again, then back at someone who apparently was straight out of the 18th century French aristocracy.

"Can you do hair?"

The woman rolled her eyes, and sighed. "Yes, I can _do_ hair."

[-]

Brynjolf was talking to her. She stared into her cup of herbal tea. Once again, Tweedle-dick had run off to go rub himself all over the blacksmith's forge outside, leaving her sitting solo at the Bee and Barb. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, causing it to curl underneath. The "face sculptor" had given her a surprisingly decent cut and style. It was chin length with layers. At least _that_ felt normal.

She hadn't been feeling well for a few weeks. She had asked the locals where the doctor's office was, getting mostly odd looks. When rephrasing it to "healer", they pointed her in the direction of "Elgrim's Elixirs" in the lower canals. The kind old lady running the counter had given her some herbs to mix with water, which was supposed to help alleviate the flu like symptoms she kept experiencing.

Who needs science and medicine, when you can simply drink rat piss and rub snake droppings all over your skin?

"So what do you say lass, ready to join?"

She had a headache. He _made_ her have a headache. Don't get her wrong, Brynjolf was aesthetically pleasing to look at, although she typically did not go for red heads. It was his personality. It left much to be desired.

Her stomach churned a bit. That apple turnover she powered down like a champion for breakfast was **not** sitting well. She looked up to find him intently looking at her, waiting for her reply.

The Thieves' Guild, huh? Hang out in the sewers wearing sweaty leather all day, letting lowlifes get a pinch or a slap in on her ass from time to time. That was an actual professional form of employment here. She was so glad she spent all that money on college…

"How much gold would it take for you to never ask me that again?" She put a hand over her stomach. Uh-oh.

A devil's grin plastered across his face. "I don't know lass, might take a bit of gold, may take a bit of something else…"

He winked.

She threw up on the table.

[-]

Her dreams were starting to take on a more bizarre aspect to them. She was dreaming that she was on top of a mountain, overlooking valleys and lower peaks from all sides.

It was beautiful.

A large shadow crossed her from the sky. It was…

 ** _A dragon._**

It had bronze scales. Ancient...old.

A large thud shook the earth as it landed. Large amounts of snow rose into the air, then slowly drifted back down, shrouding its massive form.

"Faal monah do dovah…Zu'u los zin."

It talks like _him_. Fantastic.

"I apologize, I am not familiar with your language."

He tilted his massive head, taking in her full form with one great eye. A hot breath cascaded over her body.

"Ah yes, time has not granted you our tongue yet."

He radiated a warmness about him. It was commanding, but not arrogant; almost humble. She immediately decided that she liked this giant…thing.

"Have you faired well in our world, Dovahkiin?" Ah, a word she understood.

"Very well, thank you for asking." She flashed a cheeky grin. A deep laugh resonated in the small ravine she found herself in. "Why did you call me Dragonborn? I am not one."

He swung his massive neck upwards, and looked down at her with both eyes.

"True, you were not born a dovah. This is why your name among our kind is 'faal Monahrel'.

Eh?

"Your existence was not foretold within the Elder Scrolls. Your presence is outside the conscripts of Fate."

The what?

"Those of your power have existed in a time long forgotten. However, the World Eater tolerated no competition, and they were consumed."

The who?

"Yet, our salvation has come at last. Monahrel, heed my warning. Keep what is inside you secret. Others have heard rumors on the wind, and events have been set in motion which I cannot alter."

His large wings spread, casting a deep shadow across the entirety of the mountain side.

"Seek the child, Monahrel. Save the corrupted soul."

She woke up, dripping in sweat.

"Holyshit…"


	29. Chapter 29

I'm going to work on trying to make the chapters a bit longer. I realized that I should have combined the beginning ones, but this was my first time submitting a story, so lessons learned.

Enjoy!

[-][-][-][-][-]

Andy was throwing things into her backpack at lightning speed. She was trying to get her pants on without cutting off circulation. She'd quit eating desserts for breakfast…later.

She didn't know if dreams were real or bullshit, but she had a gut feeling something was wrong with Michelle and Rommes. The little squirt was a dragonborn. She had no idea how she knew that, but she could tell when he was born, at the time thinking nothing of it. She wasn't even sure Valdras knew it.

"Andy, wait, you can't go by yourself. No offense, you're not really a fighter…"

"No clue where you would ever get that impression."

Serena looked at her with narrowed eyes. "You'll get yourself killed."

"You underestimate me. I managed to survive the Library of Hell, as well as being thrown into a feeding pit in a Dwemer ruin. I also slept with a complete, imbalanced psycho, and ended up with a priceless relic afterwards. I seem to be lucky at surviving, just not so lucky with staying out of trouble."

They heard the large doors opening to the tower.

"Valdras…you dare show your face around here."

"Isran, my friend, it has been a long time."

Her heart skipped a beat. It was Valdras. Her and Serena locked eyes. Andy sprinted out the door, down the winding steps.

Valdras and Isran had embraced the length of their arms. "I doubt you came here as a social call. Tell me, what can the Dawnguard to for you."

"Do you remember the stories of the Neverarine, my friend?"

"It has been awhile…not since I was a very young."

Andy came barreling into the main entrance, tripping over a pot on the floor, flinging broken bits of arrows everywhere, as ridiculously loud noises echoed off the walls. Isran growled.

"Andy, are you ok? I didn't know you were here, I thought you were still in Markarth?"

She was breathing hard, putting her hands on her knees. "Michelle," deep breath, "where is she…"

"She should be less than a week out from Windhelm. Why?"

She ran to him, grabbing his shirt. "We need to leave… **now**."

[-]

The Dawnguard had agreed to spread out scouts farther along the border of Skyrim and Morrowind, in an effort to sniff out the Dagoth Ur cultists. Andy figured that the mention of "ash vampires" sealed the deal with Isran. Serena and Vilkas were going to remain at Dawnguard to help with the new task at hand.

Valdras had believed Andy's retelling of her dream. When she described the dragon, he whispered "Paarthurnax". It unnerved her. She was hoping he would tell her that she was crazy, and it was a dream. She _definitely_ did not expect some sort of recognition. Apparently, dreams were a real source of communication on her new planet.

Which means the dreams with _him_ might also be real? She quickly dismissed the thought. She had more important problems to focus on, at the moment; like the one in front of her.

"So, we meet at last, great beast."

The horse sniffed at her, chewing some of its grain, then snorted, going back to its feed bag.

She was never fond of Mr. Ed reruns as a child. In fact, horses in general creeped her out. It was the large eyes and the large snouts. It seemed so… _weird_. She had never ridden one, but she had watched a lot of westerns with her grandpa. If she was applying the Days of Thunder logic, then watching equals mastery.

Valdras came up next to her, strapping the last of his bags on the saddle. He basically leapt off the ground and onto the horse in one fluid motion, then turned to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ok Legolas…I see how it's gonna be.

She took a deep breath. Lifting her left leg in the stirrup, she grabbed the top of the saddle and awkwardly hefted herself up; wiggling around for about a minute until she managed to completely get situated.

Valdras was simply staring at her, doing his best to suppress any emotion that was about ready to bubble to the surface.

She took the reigns, then snapped them. "Getty up Bullet."

The horse dipped its head down, choosing instead to gnaw on some grass, shifting its weight a bit.

"Problems?"

She looked up to see Valdras with that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Not at all, my vehicle is merely mentally prepping itself for the journey ahead. Perhaps yours lacks the intellect required for such reflection."

He moved his horse over to hers, facing the opposite direction. He leaned forward, disappearing behind her back, and gave her horse a swat on the ass. It immediately bolted forward, as Andy yelped, hanging on for dear life.

Valdras roared with laughter.

[-]

"Michelle, it's so good to see you my dear."

Suvaris was delighted to see this fire tempered girl again. It had been close to a year since the Dragonborn and his spouse had last visited Windhelm. They had a large estate on the western side of the city. Michelle had insisted it be used as temporary housing for those displaced when their homes were destroyed during the final assault on the city.

The civil war. It had finally ended three years ago, yet it still felt like it was yesterday.

At first, many of the Dunmer were leery of the blonde loud mouth. Interracial couplings _do_ happen, but they are very rare. She grew on them though, and after awhile all of them had come around to accept her as one of their own. She had just returned from Morrowind, and carried some letters back for any of the locals with relatives from Blacklight. In her hand was a letter from Suvaris' cousin.

"My dear girl, come inside, and let me see that baby boy of yours."

Lucia had stayed behind with Valdras' mother. While the stern women did not care for Michelle, she had taken quite a liking to their adopted daughter. "Lucia shows great promise. I implore you to let her remain for her development."

It was a hard decision to make, but Nidarue had a point. Lucia would never receive the kind of education she would need while in Skyrim. She showed a natural talent for conjuration; of all the schools of magic, ironically. Shipping her off to Winterhold, versus letting her reside in a wealthy estate with family…Michelle would have had to of been a complete idiot to reject the offer. The girl would stay with her adoptive grandmother for most of the time, but return to Whiterun for at least two months every year.

Nothing would happen. She was sure of it. Nidarue was well respected and very powerful.

Valdras had said he would meet her shortly after her arrival to Windhelm. She had sent the last of her letters to Andy, letting her know she was coming back to Skyrim. She was hoping that Andy might make the trip up to Windhelm. Michelle needed to be around her own people…her real family.

Being a mother was not all it was cracked out to be. Rommes had become sick, and it was worrying her. It didn't seem like a virus or infection. It was like, something was wrong _inside_ of him. She honestly was terrified. She needed Valdras there. She needed Andy's sarcastic and level-headed commentary.

"Goodness dear! What have you been _feeding_ this baby?!"

[-]

"N'wah!" The man in black knocked the table out of the way, running towards her with a knife.

Lucia let a firebolt rip from her hands, melting his face instantly. Bubbles of liquid skin and blood intermixed in his horrific scream. She heard her grandmother shout.

"To Oblivion with you all!"

Lucia jumped up and ran quickly around the dying man on the floor. She peaked out through the crack from the door hinge. Her grandmother was surrounded by at least five of them. Two piles of fiery ash were splayed across the floor in front of her, where her atronachs had been cut down.

"The bastard child, you traitorous bitch. Where is it?"

Her red eyes flared. There were so many; her mana was drained. She had been caught unprepared and by surprise. Many of these were neighbors she had known, even before the Nerevarine had come. It was the greatest betrayal…

One drew close, a wickedly sharp ebony dagger in his hand, readying to bury it in her throat.

Suddenly a great lightning bolt hit his face, turning his entire physical form into dust in the blink of an eye. A loud, deep roar was heard, as a great wind rattled items off the shelves, sending them crashing to the floor. The remaining four intruders dropped their weapons in fear, attempting to run.

More lightning erupted from behind her, and all was dust in mere seconds.

She straightened her stance, pushing some of the wrinkles out of her gown, and turned from the ashes of the intruders. Lucia was leaning up against the door frame of her room, breathing heavily. In front of her was the largest storm atronach Nidarue had ever seen in her life. Power radiated from the being; erratic scorch lines were spreading outwards onto the wood floor and ceiling.

The atronach moved forward in a swirling motion, following the trail of dust that led out the door. It would finish off any remaining vermin that dared threaten her and her family.

"Excellent child. Excellent. How do you feel?"

Lucia let a long breath out. "Tired."

She walked over and put her hand on the child's shoulder, smiling. Never once had she seen such talent and promise, let alone from those with no mer blood coursing their veins. The creature she had just summoned was on par with master conjurists who had long since past. It had to be more than coincidence that her son had taken this girl in. Azura's doing, she surmised.

"Rest, my child. When you feel your energy return, grab a broom and help your grandmother escort our 'guests' out."

[-]

He had decided to travel separately from his counterpart, and backtrack through the icy waters of the Sea of Ghosts. The College of Winterhold held the most extensive and complete library left in all of Tamriel. Something concerned him about the nature of what the cultists were attempting, and he needed to verify that his instincts were correct.

It was a ritual he had not seen in a long time, and even then, it was not done on such a large scale, or with such powerful materials.

Valdras sending for his mate from Morrowind had been a wise decision. The cultist had deep connections within that province. Skyrim would prove much more difficult for sympathizers, even among the Dunmer residents. Any that sought refuge had washed themselves of the degraded politics and religious fanaticism of their homeland long ago. With the empire, once again, reigning over Skyrim, a sense of much desired stability and calm had developed.

He closed his eyes. A large gust of wind roared up the cliff, climbing the sides of the massive College walls. She still had no knowledge of her power, nor what she carried. It was imperative both be kept secret. The blood from a Matriarch would easily resurrect multiple gods.

The pure blood of their child could resurrect hundreds.

The cultists had dual motives: they wanted the dragonborn hybrid child, as well as to enact revenge on the massacre at Piran. His companion's child was not of pure blood though. The ritual would still require strong relics to revive their "god". However, it was powerful, none the less, and a necessary ingredient to their end goal.

He felt something else at hand though. A remnant of his old master, somehow intermixed in current affairs. Perhaps Hermaeus Mora had been much more aware of the mate's pregnancy than he originally thought. Rommes' soul had become distorted. Paarthurnax had felt it also. No doubt, a pathetic attempt at meddling in affairs the Prince no longer had control over.

She appeared in his mind. Her body, laid out before him. The feel of her skin; the intoxicating scent still lingering in the depths of his memory. It had been almost four months since that night. It had pained him to leave her, but it was necessary.

He opened his eyes. He would remain an additional week, then head to Windhelm to regroup.

[-]

Valdras and her had chosen to set up a small camp off the side of the main road. They were roughly half way to Windhelm. He paced the fire, sporadically squatting in front of it to poke the coals, then walking around a few times only to repeat the process.

"I believe this is the most restless I have ever seen you."

He poked the fire some more.

"I'm sorry Andy. What you told me…I fear for Michelle, for our child."

He stood up, making eye contact with her.

"What happened that day, when we fought Hermaeus Mora? With Sahrotaar?"

She stared blankly at the fire.

"I…I don't know. I felt, like…something moved _through_ me. Is that what you feel when you absorb a soul?"

He stared back at the fire, deep in thought. Silence briefly engulfed the tiny camp.

"No…not at all. I feel more powerful, refreshed…like weight has been added to my bones, strengthening them."

She frowned slightly.

"Yeah, no, I definitely didn't feel that. Kind of felt exhausted afterwards."

She rubbed her arms as a chill crept over her body.

"The bronze dragon…he called me something. Do you speak that language? The language of the dragons?"

"Some. Miraak is the fluent one."

Her mind drifted to thoughts of him. Where was he? Why hadn't he come for her? She really needed to get over him. It was reaching that obsession status. It was one night, he left, end of story…move on.

"Monahrel."

Valdras looked at her, then shrugged his shoulders. "I have never heard that term before."

"Oh well. Probably not important then."

In the distance, a pair of red eyes was observing the camp with keen interest, hearing every word of the conversation at hand.

"She _does_ exist. Master will be pleased."

The sinister figure disappeared into the dark shadows of the trees.


	30. Chapter 30

Andy was reminded of why she didn't have kids, and was a hundred percent satisfied with her decision to end up as a spinster. The first thing Michelle did was dump the kid in Andy's arms as soon as she stepped in the front door. She said she was going to get a drink and hopefully die of alcohol poisoning. About a half hour later, Valdras strolled in. Andy immediately pointed him down the street with the instructions that he was to take all booze away from his wife.

She was still nursing. The spoiled brat knew better.

Andy held the growing child in her hands, rocking him back and forth in front of the fireplace, trying to settle him down. Something was gravely wrong with him. It wasn't a sickness, at least physically. A strange feeling stirred within her. She tried to quell it. Now was not the time to get sick again.

But it lingered. It grew, and the baby grew more irritable in response. He started to thrash and scream, pulling her hair. She held him away, as he drew blood out of her arms with his teeth. His eyes opened, and were completely black. Black tendrils seeped out of his mouth.

She screamed; unable to look away, even blink. She watched in terror as this horrible nightmare unfolded in front of her, helpless to do anything.

A golden mist formed around them. Her eyes _burned_. The child was _screaming_. The blackness dripping out of him into puddles on the floor. An immense pressure felt like her brain would rip apart.

The low, alien voice of something she prayed she would never hear again, shouted inside her mind.

 _"_ _It is_ _ **mine**_ _. No!"_

She felt something intense and massive move through her, as she crumpled to the floor, the limp child tumbling out of her grasp.

 _"_ _No, no! How is it possible?!"_ A horrific screech cut through her mind, and she blacked out.

Visions rushed by. She saw…a woman, much like Valdras, with fierce red eyes. Her face was benevolent, beautiful. She radiated an other worldly presence; a shimmering gown of starlight cascading her entire body. They were standing across from each other, in an open space, a field of sorts. Nightshade flowers swayed to the light movements of wind that passed through them. The sky was full of stars, as a bright moon shone overhead, bathing the field in a soft, blue light.

Michelle's child was in the goddess' arms.

"A choice must be made. We have only this moment granted within Time."

The beautiful woman looked down upon the child.

"Soulless, yet not dead. There is one who may yet take this place, but a willing sacrifice must be given."

An eerie wind picked up around them, as the flower blooms erratically bent to its will.

"What must be given?"

The gown glimmered, as her head titled slightly. "That of which you value dearly."

She looked around, taking in the splendor of this dream realm. What was dear to her that she could give? An image from her childhood rose to the surface. Her eyes narrowed in on the goddess.

"Then take my sight."

The woman gave a warm smile, bowing her head slowly towards Andy.

"Monahrel, I am indebted to you once more."

Hot, searing pain shot through her eyes. A scream tore from her throat, as she fell to the ground on her knees, desperately putting pressure over her eye sockets with her hands. Before the blackness claimed her once more, she heard the cry of a child.

[-]

It was dark. She lied there wondering if she was still asleep or awake. She felt around on the surface she was on. It appeared to be a bed of sorts.

So dark. Why was it so dark?

She awkwardly raised an arm, aimlessly feeling for her face. There was nothing covering it. Her hand crossed over her right eye; an immediate, crippling pain flared.

She was…

She let her arm drop to the side like dead weight, and sighed.

Blind.

However, that means…

She heard the door open. A child's laugh echoed from the corridor.

"Oh…thank god."

"Andy! You're awake finally."

It was Valdras. She grinned, staring off into the darkness, trying to locate where he might be standing.

Valdras' eyes narrowed on her.

"Andy…"

She stuck her hand out, waving it around. "Come here, so I can touch you."

He slowly walked over, pulling up a chair, and placing it next to her bed. Sitting down, he gently grabbed her hand. Andy sighed.

"Rommes. How is he?"

"He has recovered, Andy. We found him in a pool of all too familiar black fluid, crying. Your body was next to his. Andy, what happened?"

She squeezed his hand, smiling. Her fingers were running over his, taking note of the various ridges, scars, and smooth skin. It was what she guessed she would have to do to recognize people from now on.

Valdras' eyebrows furrowed. "Andy…what is wrong with your vision?"

She continued smiling, gripping his hand.

"Hey Valdras."

"Yes."

"Y'all have seeing eye dogs here, right?"

[-]

Her sight had been taken, but at least her ability to dream remained. In another stroke of good fortune, she still had both her eyes. She wasn't really excited about the prospect of wearing two eye patches the rest of her life. People might start mistaking her for a mentally challenged pirate.

Rommes no longer possessed the soul of a dragon. He was…normal. She had a feeling that maybe he inherited a recycled soul from someone in Valdras' family tree. Maybe the guy he was named after.

Now _that_ would be ironic.

She reached out for her walking stick. Her body was covered in bruises, and she had a cut above her left eyebrow from an accidental smack into a wall ornament. Slowly standing up, she did swipes back and forth as she headed towards the stairs. Michelle had insisted she take the secret closet room downstairs, but once Andy found out it had been the sight of some Buffalo Bill murder case, she absolutely refused.

Besides, stairs weren't so bad. She had only fallen down them twice, so far.

She cautiously placed a foot on each step, slowly making her way upwards. She found that she was becoming adequate at counting. She knew the exact steps required to get to various objects in the house, which started to greatly help her navigation skill.

They had only ventured out of the house a handful of times. It was something she was going to start forcing herself to do daily. Her only regret was that she wished it was in a warmer climate. Windhelm felt like the asshole end of a polar bear; she could do without the occasional ice sheets that would form across the stone paths.

She heard a child's laugh to her right. "Romulus…are you being a Klingon."

She didn't need her vision to know that Michelle had rolled her eyes, sporting the biggest, disgusted look possible on her face. Andy let loose a laugh.

The child was babbling at her. Andy slowly made her way to the master bedroom, propping her stick up against the door frame, and walking over to find a chair. She felt hands touch hers, and guiding her. She sat, and suddenly felt tiny, grubby hands pull on her pants. Andy leaned down, hefting the child up.

"Jesus Christ Michelle, what the hell is in your boobs? Steroids?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" She huffed, annoyed.

She bounced him on her knee, letting him tug at her necklace. Before long it was in his mouth, with slobber coating it, accordingly.

"So...y'all planning to have another?"

A snort sounded in the room. Andy had a constant shit-eating grin, but she couldn't help it.

Her stomach rumbled. It was starting to feel like an endless pit, and her pants had become extremely tight. She was going to have to figure out how to procure a new pair soon. At least she had managed to quit throwing up so much.

She put the wiggling, stink ball down, and reached over, feeling for the night stand she knew was nearby. She felt the cold handle of a cup.

"Is this water?"

"Yep."

Fabulous. She slowly brought it over, and leaned in a bit, feeling the cold rim touch her lips. She titled it up, allowing the refreshing liquid to enter her mouth.

"You ever think of settling down Andy?"

She immediately spat the water out, coughing.

What started as a giggle, turned into roaring laughter, as Michelle lost it on the floor, clutching her sides.

"Jesus Andy, it doesn't matter what planet you're on. You're allergic to relationships."

Andy was grinning. She put the cup back on the table, proceeding to stand up slowly, assuring herself of her balance.

"I am older now. A bit blind, and a bit too addicted to apple turnovers. My impression from the males of this world is that my physical appearance is best described as "odd", and that's not even remotely addressing what they think of my personality. I believe that the days of me "settling down", and pumping out a farm full of offspring, are long gone."

Her smile had turned into a slight frown. It was a realistic assessment, but it still stung. She shook her head, snapping herself out of those self-loathing thoughts.

"Besides, you and Valdras keep me busy enough." She waved her arm in the direction of the crawling toddler on the floor. She stretched, yawning a little.

"I think I'm going to go take a small nap. I feel tired suddenly."

She turned slowly and counted the steps until she felt the doorframe. Gripping her stick, she proceeded across the creaking floor in the direction of her room.

The front door swung open. She heard Valdras' typical grunt, followed by a couple of swear words about the cold weather.

She stopped, standing just outside her door. His steps were always heavy, yet lifted off with a bounce. It was funny the things she started to pick up; things she never would have noticed before in a million years. Humans relied on their sight too much, almost as a crutch. The other senses held just as much information.

Another set of steps could be heard behind his. Odd. She didn't recognize them. They were sturdy and direct. A guard?

She stood with her legs slightly apart, and her walking stick held in between as a prop. She wasn't sure where her eyes were focused. She was still practicing on aiming them towards whoever she was talking to. Typically, when guests were over or they went out in public, she would tie a simple sash across them, as to save others from the awkwardness of her empty stares.

"There's my boy!" She heard Valdras take a long stride. The child chuckled in delight. No doubt, getting swept up in his father's embrace.

The other foot steps neared her on the upstairs loft. She strained her ears, trying to pick up any subtleties or clues as to who it was. A peculiar scent crossed her nose; she felt like she should know it. She heard Michelle and Valdras kiss, and perhaps linger a bit _too long_ with it, but that was just one of her curses with having elevated hearing now.

A couple of steps shuffled from the master bedroom. The stranger was near her, but without awkwardly sticking her hands out to feel for their position, she wasn't sure.

"Oh. Hey Miraak, long time no see."

Andy's blank, green eyes almost popped out.

She whipped around, desperately reaching for her doorframe. Air. She stuck her stick out, sweeping side to side. Shit, what number was she on? Was she even facing the right direction? She moved forward, smacking herself into the table next to the stairs, stumbling a bit.

A hand grasped hers, steadying her. A hand on her back gently directed her in the opposite direction.

"It is good to see you well, Michelle." His voice was masked in civility, yet she could hear the undertones of rage, close to boiling over.

She heard a low chuckle from her cousin, as she found herself being ushered along, his hand placed on her back, pushing her forward. The hand disappeared, and she heard the door swing shut, latching.

Andy nervously swallowed.

"How long have you been blind?" The question came out aggressive, demanding; as though he could barely control his temper.

"Since I was twelve. Surprise."

She felt a hand roughly grip her chin. His breathing was heavy, she heard a very, very low growl from deep within his chest. She doubted she would have ever picked up on it before.

His smell was…she breathed it in. It was comforting. Her body craved to wrap itself in it. Mark herself with his scent. _As it should be._

She shook her head a bit, moving her chin out of his grasp. Another low growl was heard.

"Why are you here?"

She had taken to dropping her eyes low to the ground. It was too much effort to keep trying to direct them to the positions he kept pacing to.

"I am here earlier than initially planned. I felt…something. You were in pain."

Oh god, not this shit again.

"Really? Which time? When my eyesight was being ripped from my body, or when you split without a goodbye after I let you fuck me in about every degrading position possible?"

An oppressive silence fell on them.

She felt his hand on the pendant.

"You still wear this?" His question had a mildly surprised tone.

"I've sort of grown attached to it. It's a great chew toy for kids."

The low growl emanated from his throat again.

"By all means, take it if you need to re-gift it for the next poor girl you leave in the middle of the night."

She felt herself get pushed backwards, slamming up against the heavy door. His hands braced on her sides, locking her in. Her eyes were wide with panic, desperately looking around into nothing but blackness. His scent invaded her senses again. His massive form was pressed against hers, as her body betrayed her; hips seductively rolling against his, instinctively.

She felt his hot breath on her neck. He was…smelling her. A wet tongue licked along the artery in her neck, and the ghosted scrape of his teeth caused goosebumps to cover her body.

"God, you are so fucking weird."

He teasingly sucked on the, now, sore spot of her neck; an erotic growl forced itself out of her lungs, as she arched her back, fisting her hands in his silky hair.

A loud knock right behind her head that almost made her piss her pants. She shoved him off her, hearing the thud of a body land on the bed.

"We're going to visit the Gray Quarter." Michelle's voice boomed on the other side.

"Okay. Have fun."

Andy took a deep sigh, waiting for the noises of Michelle and Valdras exiting the house. She turned around, unlatching the door, and proceeded to step out, swaying her stick back and forth, until it hit the stair railing.

She cautiously moved closer, feeling diligently for the first step. There were seventeen total. Making her way down, she finally landed at the bottom, then proceeded towards the kitchen.

She felt like something warm. Something to help her calm her nerves.

She heard some shuffling upstairs. She felt around for her "morning coffee" grounds. She was still tired, but doubted she would be able to sleep anytime soon. Finding the thin, parchment paper as a filter, she placed it over a cup, then felt for the pot of water over to the side of the fire. It was almost steaming. She poured it over her makeshift filter. In the overhead cupboard was a jar of honey, and she used it as a sweetener.

Not Starbucks quality, but doable.

She heard softer steps come down the stairwell. He must have changed. Her walking stick was popped up against the kitchen table, and she slowly made her way to it, putting the cup down, and feeling for the back of the chair. She sat down, taking in a warm mouthful of her coffee.

A content smile spread over her face. Her stomach grumbled, and she put her hand over it.

He had walked to the kitchen. The sound of clinking dishware, cupboards being opened, then shut, and items moving, filled the room.

She heard him walk to her, and felt something get placed in front of her.

"Here, this is nourishing."

Nourishing? What an odd term to use. He _was_ an odd man, she supposed.

She felt on the platter. It was apple slices with cuts of cheese. How cute.

Her stomach rumbled again. She unceremoniously shoved a piece of apple and cheese in her mouth, barely chewing them before swallowing.

"Thank you."

He had taken a seat across from her.

She felt around for the damp washcloth she knew she left out before she originally headed upstairs. It was there to the side, and she wiped her hands with it, waving them in the air to dry.

"Here, give me your hand." She reached out, wiggling some fingers at him, anxiously waiting. She heard his chair shift closer, and felt his knee brush against hers. His large hand filled her palm. She brought it closer to her chest, balancing it between both hands. She started to run her fingers along the calloused edges, attempting to memorize every nick and groove…every crease.

"I find…that we become too dependent upon one sense. It is only noticeable when taken away. Different people have different anomalies about them. Some you can immediately tell by sound, others, touch."

"And what is my anomaly, dii lovaas lokraan."

A large, radiant smile spread across her lips. Her green eyes glistened.

"Ah, so they _were_ more than mere dreams, my enigmatic lover."

His hand reached out, caressing the side of her face, wiping a tear that fell. She dipped her head down, using her shirt to dry the remaining tear tracks.

"Your…scent. That is how I recognize you."

She reached out, caressing his face in her hands. He had forgone his usual doctored up appearance, and she ran her fingers over the rough scales of his left cheek. She felt along his prominent nose, along his strong jaw, covered in short, thick hair.

She raised an eyebrow. "A beard? Really?"

A loud laugh boomed, and he grabbed one of her hands, kissing the back of it. "Debating still."

She chuckled to herself. It was an image she was having a very difficult time forming in her head.

"Andrea, there are…things, we need to discuss."

The mood at the table turned serious. Her smile fell, and a concerned frown quickly replaced it.

"That night, almost four months ago."

Oh shit, this was not happening. He was not doing this all over again. She put her arms on the table, and dropped her head with a muffled thump.

"Yeah, what about it." Her depressed voice spoke into the table.

She felt a hand reach around her chin again, lifting her head up. She raised her posture in response, yet his fingers remained, gently rubbing her chin.

"Have you noticed anything…out of the ordinary, since?"

She felt herself blink a few times. Anything odd? Different? She grabbed at the pendant.

"Is it the necklace?"

A warm chuckle filled the kitchen, as his hand disappeared from her chin.

She felt it reappear on her abdomen.

"This."

[-]

Vilkas had the cultist pinned up by their neck against the cave wall. They were choking, gasping for air, pathetically trying to kick him back. The lust for bloodshed flared, and his canines elongated. The hand which held the neck was changing its appearance. Thick, razor sharp claws cut into the flesh.

Serena was propped up in a leaning stance by the entranceway; her arms crossed in front of her chest, as she observed her beastly lover from a distance. She licked her lips, seeing the blood trickle down. This is when her and Vilkas connected the most. He would hunt, and she would feast on the glorious aftermath.

They were in a cave that served as an underground black market exchange between the two provinces, many centuries ago. Vilkas had sniffed it out during the full moon, a few nights back. The cultist thought themselves cunning, invincible.

She laughed. All prey stumbles, eventually.

She walked over, in a seductive manner, casually making her way to the dying man, gasping for breath. She ran her finger along the trail of blood that formed, bringing it to her mouth for a taste.

It tasted like fear. It was _delicious_.

"My dear companion and I were wondering if you perhaps knew where the body of your God lies?"

His eyes slowly blinked. The oxygen deprivation had taken its toll.

She turned towards Vilkas, running a hand caressingly over the stubble on his jaw, smearing a little blood. "My darling…tonight, _we hunt_."

The neck snapped and blood splattered across them as the cultists head was torn from his body. Serena licked her lips in amusement.

[-]

They had slaughtered over a hundred cultists in the cave system. It was quite expansive, but their biggest battle was within the inner depths; they had walked away victoriously though. On the table in front of her were the shreds of the Heart.

This was a drastic blow to the cult. Serena grinned, both fangs peeking out.

They had also stumbled across some bits of information, scattered on various corpses. It appears the cult had made a strategic attack on Valdras' family estate in Blacklight, with the single goal of seizing his child, and failing. The blood of a Dragonborn was rich with the blessing of Akatosh. The essence of an Aedra was required to stabilize the summoning ritual. The stronger it was, the more successful the resurrection.

Unfortunately, the cultists were well funded, and well enamored within the local political scene of Morrowind. There was nothing they could do now, as Valdras would have no doubt heard of this attack before they could send word.

She felt hands slide around her waist, as she perused through a strongbox on a rickety bookshelf to the side. He kissed her neck, looking over her shoulder at the piece of paper she was skimming over. One of his hands slipped their way over the curve of her waist, cupping her breast through her armor, giving it a squeeze. She giggled.

"You are quite the naughty puppy."

He nipped her neck, as she gasped. "You know what hunting does to me."

Her eyes narrowed, and a wicked smile spread across her face. She glanced over at the stone slab, where she had feasted on the head cultist, not more than twenty minutes before.

"Feeling up to something _really_ naughty?" His answer came in the form of a low, seductive growl in her ear.

[-]

Andy was sitting on the table, her head propped up on arm, elbow bent, letting the steaming contents of the coffee coat her face.

Pregnant.

"Could things get more fucked."

She heard the creak of the chair next to her.

"That wasn't a challenge."

She rubbed her hands on her face, leaning back, sweeping some of her hair behind her ears.

"You cut your hair."

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She found herself doing it in a higher frequency when he was around.

"No shit, Sherlock."

She felt a large hand wrap around one of hers.

"Andrea, you must keep this secret." His voice was almost pleading.

"Why? Ashamed? Worried about child support?"

She was surprised to hear him laugh.

"The longer I spend in your dreams, the more I understand your sense of humor. You are actually quite witty, dii lovaas lokraan."

Her mood changed.

"Miraak, what…what do I do? How can I be a mother? I am blind, not of this world. You always leave. What kind of life will it have?"

Tears were swelling up. He leaned over, putting both hands on her shoulders.

"She."

Andy cried out, putting her hands over her abdomen. A little girl. Her eyes were panicked. Tears were streaming down. Her breath was rapid, and she started to tremble.

He lifted her up, carrying her bridal style up the stairs, and into her bedroom, laying her down. She was sobbing. Andy had reached the limit to what her brain could handle. She had tried to be positive…always looking at the logic of the situation, the pros and cons. But this…this was just, too much.

She heard the door latch, then felt a presence next to her in the bed. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her to his warm chest. She cried while he held her, until she finally drifted to sleep.

[-]

"Dun, dun, dunnnnn!"

She attempted a twirl and fell on her ass instead, skidding across the rink.

Andy laughed. It had been awhile.

Within the momentum of sliding, she managed to get up on her skates again, continuing in the counter clockwise circle the crowd swirled around in. She was slowly getting better at controlling her dreams and the environments. It helped with stronger memories.

This was the ice rink at her college. Her and her friends would join teams for intermural hockey during the winter months. When she was a kid, her parents stuck her in some ice skating classes with her older brother. He hated it, but she kept it up.

She could never resist trying to twirl like the people on the Olympics. Even in her dreams, she still wiped out.

The nameless faces disappeared in a cloudy fog. She imagined a hockey stick in her hand, and looked up. It was John. He was Danielle's on and off again boyfriend.

He was also a sexist dick.

John was coming in at fast, aiming to ram her into the wall. She remembered. This is where she ended up at the dentist's office.

She held her hands in front of her face trying to block the blow. A gust of wind blew past her. She opened her eyes. John wasn't there anymore.

"With strong memories, comes strong emotions."

He was leaning over the rink wall, next to her.

"Guess I should try more passive memories then." She put her hand over her upper lip. Her front teeth ached.

She looked back over at him. He was wearing the jeans and sweater outfit again.

"You look like a posh Viking."

Miraak laughed. "Obviously, something you have 'have a thing for'." He winked.

Bastard.

"Incorrect. I happen to like short men with black hair."

He laughed again, while hopping over the wall. Pushing off his skates, he whipped past her, causing a small current of air to rustle her hair.

How in the hell…

"I've been studying your movements," he shouted from the other side of the rink.

She kicked off and sped up after him. He slowed down to a casual speed, as she positioned herself in front, skating backwards, so they were facing.

"Even after an eternity with you, I dare say I shall never grow bored."

"Eventually, you'll farm all the knowledge out of my brain." She tapped her forehead with a finger.

"You think that's why I'm here?" He stopped, a frown forming on his lips.

She circled around, then double backed. As she drifted past him, she reached out, grabbing his hand and flashing a devious smile.

"With you…a girl finds that she must always be on her toes, Mr. Trollbane."

He spun her around, lifting her up by her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his hips instinctively. His mouth was on her neck, biting and sucking at the supple skin. She let out a loud moan.

And woke up.

She felt the hard surface of her bedroom table underneath. He had her positioned on the edge, legs spread, with his head titled in the crook of her neck.

His musk was intoxicating, and a low, almost purring growl resonated in her chest. She felt his hard erection pressing against her, desperately trying to gain entrance. She shifted her hips, pushing on his ass with her foot, causing him to roughly slide in. She gasped, feeling the vibrations of a deep growl against her neck.

She took a fist of his hair, and pulled his head back with a sharp jerk. He hissed.

"Fuck me. Hard."

He grabbed her hips, and started to thrust…deep and fast. She felt herself come apart. Hands buried in his long hair, her head tilted back in ecstasy; she screamed as her walls tightened around him.

Teeth returned to her neck, and his erratic convulsions could be felt inside her, a warmness spreading.

They remained that way for a while, covered in sweat and panting. He eventually leaned back, forcing his mouth on hers, while lifting her back up and into bed.

[-]

Niradue had brought Lucia with her to a local gathering, hosted by Gurear Serules. He was one of the prominent Councilmen of Redoran, which had seized properties near Blacklight after the Argonian invasion. Lucia's arrival caused a decent amount of gossip to circulate amongst the politicians and aristocrats; each desperately clawing over the other to gain any shred of movement upwards. Niradue's status as one of the few, high-ranking members of the depleted, yet lingering, House Telvanni demanded her presence at such events.

Such was the life of Dunmeris politics; something her adopted granddaughter would need to overcome, as well as use to her advantage, if she were going to succeed to be anything more than a mediocre conjurist. Lucia was dressed in a traditional Dunmer gown, appropriate for her age and level of mastery. House Telvanni markings elegantly adorned the fine embroidery. Her hair had grown longer, and was pulled back into a respectable metal clasp, laden with rare pearls; a gift from her Aunt.

Niradue's daughter, Uvitha, had returned from her stay in the Imperial City. Many Nobles of Cyrodil were actively courting her, and she used the temporary absence as an advantage to position these suitors against each other. While her daughter did not share the blood line's love of magic, she was quite the politician in her own right. She was as beautiful as she was dangerous.

She observed Lucia shadowing Uvitha; making note of the various body gestures, responses, and emotions her daughter displayed in general conversation. Uvitha would gesture towards Lucia, and she would confidently bow in elegance, eyeing the males with precise calculation.

Niradue grinned.

"Tis a rare sight indeed, to see such a beautiful expression grace an even lovelier face?"

She turned her head slowly towards the figure which appeared from her left side. It was Councilman Belsond Valrara. His wife was a fellow classmate of hers when she was under the tutelage of Divayth Fyr. She had passed away during the eruption, while residing at one of their estates in Maar Gan. Niradue had nothing but respect for her deceased friend, and Belsond had grieved for his wife for many years after.

Which is why this caught her by surprise. He had always been courteous and cordial, but this was…

"My lady?"

Her thoughts returned to the present, and she nodded in the direction of Lucia.

"My granddaughter."

He smiled warmly. "Ah yes, the delightful Nord girl. She radiates a certain…power. What is her lineage?"

"They had appeared to be no more than common farmers, killed during the civil war that raged her Homeland. She had never attempted any magic until my son brought her to me. Her grasp of it is…astounding."

She watched Lucia smile, offering her gloved hand to a young Dunmer noble, who had swallowed enough nerve to approach her.

"Niradue, I meant to ask you about the attack on your estate last week. What happened?" A concerned look crossed his face.

"Cultists. Dagoth Ur. They sought my grandson."

His red eyes widened. "Why?"

Niradue physically turned her body to fully face him. "My son is the Dragonborn."

A silence spread. Cordial, polite laughs could be heard in the distance.

"Have you tracked down who?"

Niradue twisted her head towards her daughter and granddaughter, making eye contact with Uvitha. Her daughter gave an ever so slight nod, and placed her arm around Lucia, directing her and the crowd in the opposite direction of her mother. Her beautiful voice rang out to the delight of those around.

"Yes."

A glint of metal in her right hand flashed, and an ebony blade embedded itself in the Councilman's throat.

"By the way, you accidently dropped this during your last visit."

Wet, gargled gasps died under the chatter of the crowd. Blood poured from his mouth. Two figures in black slipped out of the shadows, hauling the dying old mer back with them into the thick night.

Niradue wiped the blood from the knife, then dropped it into a container full of similar weapons, which was conveniently placed against a wall in the courtyard. This area was commonly used for training by the local Redoran Guard.

Corruption within the Great Houses was common. House Telvanni typically refrained from meddling into business that was not theirs. The other Houses, it seemed, not so much. She did not know when Belsond had given himself into madness, but a direct assault on her family could only be paid for in blood. House Redoran was obviously rotten at the core, and in need of a culling.

Cheers rang out, as she saw her granddaughter slip her hands from the young Dunmer, and graciously bow in front of the man.

Niradue walked towards the group, clapping, her smile returning once again.


	31. Chapter 31

Andy found herself standing near a cottage on the coast of an ocean. The wind whipped around fields of tall grass, showing the physical signs of the air currents.

A scream cut through the dreamscape. She saw a woman being dragged out by a group of soldiers, beaten and bloodied. Their armor was crude, ancient. The poor woman was thrown in front of two individuals. A robed man, wearing the same mask she had seen from her first dream with Miraak.

Except, it wasn't him. She could feel it.

Next to the man was a black-haired woman. She had icy blue eyes, ordained in jewels and a lavish gown. A queen of sorts. She radiated jealousy, envy…hatred.

One of the soldiers came out of the house with something in his arms. It was a child, swaddled in wool cloth. He handed it to the queen. The woman on the ground, frantically reached out, grabbing the hem of this queen's dress. Tears were streaming down her face. She was begging. The same blue eyes, same color of hair…

The ice queen scowled, yanking her gown away.

The masked man gave a small nod. One of the soldiers grabbed the woman by her hair, yanking her head back and slicing her throat. They turned away, mounting their horses and lazily setting off on the road while they left her to drown in her own blood.

A large shadow spread across the sky, and she saw the familiar bronze dragon. A large gust of wind blew past her as he tucked his wings back, landing on the ground a good distance ahead, shaking the earth.

"I am sorry that you have been shown this, Monahrel."

The women's blood still poured onto the ground, as the last visions of the murderous party disappeared on the horizon.

"This was the fate of those who birthed the female dovah. The infant…she was consumed."

His long neck lowered, sniffing her. She reached out, touching the large snout. The massive beast sighed, content.

"Have faith, Monahrel. You are gifted without fate. This shall not be yours, yet, you must always be cautious. There are those who desperately seek you. Your blood, it is powerful."

"I am O negative."

A deep, warm laugh lightened the horrible scene she just observed. She blinked, and the woman was gone. The dragon lifted his great head, once again, spreading his massive wings.

"We will come for you, once certain events unfold. Remember this: dark is the night before a glorious sunrise."

[-]

Lucia had snuck out of her bedroom window by climbing down the ivy wall of grandmother's house. She slipped through the woods that lined the edge of the estate, making her way towards the designated meeting spot on her neighbor's property. Llorys had been the boy who asked her for a dance a few weeks back. He was also the nephew of Gurear Serules, and was being groomed as the sole heir to his fortune. The mysterious death of Belsond Valrara had all of House Redoran in an uproar. It had been unearthed that he had ties to the Dagoth Ur, and was responsible for the attack on her and her grandmother.

Llorys was a smart kid, a year or two her senior. He truly despised politics, and craved adventure; something which his Uncle strictly forbid. So, he improvised...by secretly slipping out at night.

Lucia had on a pair of brown trousers and a long, cream tunic with a belt around her waist. It was what she wore when usually doing her chores, but she found them to be just as effective for more 'covert operations'.

"Psst, Lucia, here!" a loud whisper came from behind some crates near a wall. She crept over, making sure that the torch light of the guards never illuminated her presence.

Llorys was dressed similarly, although an ebony blade hung off his belt. His midnight black hair was long, and some of it had slipped out the hair binding he typically wore at the nape of his neck. He had recently gone through a growth spurt, and stood a few inches over Lucia. He sported the typical high cheek bones of the Dunmer, a light blue shade for his skin tone.

Lucia's birth mother was short for a Nord, and her father had not been very tall either. People typically confused her with being an Imperial. Her wavy hair was slung back in a high ponytail. Her brown eyes peering out between the crates.

"This is so exciting. What are we going to do?", she whispered.

He smiled. He secretly had a small crush on her. Her grandmother was a feared and powerful matron for House Telvanni, and most of the other boys had been too terrified to go anywhere near the girl.

"I think…I overheard one of the grounds workers talking about Belsond the other day. It was hushed, but they mentioned a 'ritual' and 'moving the item'. This is what I propose: we move it for them."

A wide grin spread across Lucia's face, and her brown eyes sparkled. She nodded her head enthusiastically.

He pointed through the crates, to a dark recess on the other side of the pathway.

"You see that torch there? The stand is the lever for a secret passageway. It leads to a small chamber underneath the grounds. It was once used to house runaway slaves. I bet you anything whatever item they have, it's there."

"Okay, so, how do we get there without the guards seeing us."

He turned to her, his red eyes full of excitement. "Easy, I distract them, and you activate the lever."

Lucia had learned much during her time with her grandmother. However, her learning had truly begun prior, with her Aunt Andy. They were both very intelligent and perceptive women, which had rubbed off on the impressionable young girl. She took in the situation at hand, noting the various guards, their movements, and the surroundings. She noticed the tree next to them.

"I have a better idea. You see that low hanging branch, barely kept above by the vines connecting it? We'll tie a longer vine to it, run it back here, and cut the ones holding it. When we're ready, we'll let go of the new vine. The distraction should allow us to both gain access to the chamber."

He looked at her…stunned. His stomach sprouted a few butterflies. "Uh…uh. Yeah, sure."

"Can you climb without making noise?"

He looked at the tree. "Yeah, I think I can."

Llorys crept over to the massive trunk, using the nearby wall as an extra means of footing, as he zig-zigged his way up. He saw the massive branch, barely holding on. He had cut a large vine on the back side, tying one end near where they hid. He tied another knot around the massive branch, and sliced the few vines which were keeping it up, one at a time. The new vine slowly took on more tension until it was the only thing supporting the large mass. He crept back down, the guards none the wiser below, as they bragged about their conquests with the local women.

He felt delicate hands touch his, as she maneuvered her body next to him, helping to stretch the vine back, keeping the heavy branch up. A few leaves jiggled loose, and they both froze, standing deathly quiet.

She smelled like apples.

A torch light flickered, and the guards resumed their conversation. They both let out the breaths they were holding. He leaned over, whispering in her ear. "On the third jerk, we let go."

He jerked it once. Twice...

They both let go, and the tree branch crashed on the stone path, creating a startling, loud noise. Guards ran past their secluded hiding spot, shouting. When the last one disappeared around the corner, they quickly sprinted across the pathway, grabbing the torch stand. A small crevice underneath slid to the side, creating an opening in the wall. They both crawled in and moved the tiny door back.

Lucia was thrilled. This was so exhilarating, she had never felt such a rush before. She looked at her Dunmer companion. He seemed just as ecstatic.

The sound of water dripping echoed down the small, dark chamber. They quietly moved forward, crawling on their hands and knees for about five minutes, until they came across a large, completely enclosed room. A small amount of light bled through the cracks in the ceiling, casting an eerie glow on the items scattered about.

They stood up, rubbing their sore knees. Llorys looked at her. "Ok, let's explore."

They started opening crates, sifting through various items. Some of it was expired food, long forgotten. Others were crates full of cloth, metal ingots, dishware, etc. Llorys was becoming frustrated. He just _knew_ that something was here. He had a gut feeling, and it was rarely ever wrong.

Lucia noticed a small crack in the wall, next to the crate she was looking through. Something was…off, about it. Like it didn't belong there. She reached out, touching it, and it moved.

"Clever…", she whispered to herself.

She removed the stone block. To her amusement, she felt a velvet bag in the recess of the hole. She pulled it out.

"Llorys" she whispered. His red eyes found her silhouette, and he crept over to her.

"Find something?"

"Yeah…what do you think?"

He touched the velvet bag, feeling the item inside. It felt like a glove. This couldn't be…

He grinned at her. Looking around, he saw a small, dead skeever in the corner. Picking it up by the tail, he slung it in the hole, and shoved the stone back in its place. Lucia put her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Sudden movement of stone echoed in the chamber. Another hidden entrance had opened, and two people were coming; the light of the torches bouncing off the damp walls. He grabbed Lucia's hand, pulling her with him back down the small pathway they crawled in from. On the left, about a body length or so from the chamber, he remembered that there had been a small recess, hopefully deep enough for them to hide in. He crawled to it, and pulled her to him. They wrapped around each other tightly, desperately hoping that they were completely hidden by the shadows

He saw two, long and distorted silhouettes of the figures spread down the small corridor behind Lucia, and he pulled her even closer.

"The mission has failed. The item will be moved to the main base. Time is of the essence. Await your new orders at the usual spot, tomorrow night. Bring the item with you."

"Yes master." The clicks of their boots slowly disappeared in the distance, and the stone doorways, once again, moved back to their hidden positions.

Llorys recognized that voice. He sneered. That treacherous swit.

Lucia had lifted her head to face his. He still held her tight, appearing to be lost in a trance.

"Llorys?" Her breath tickled his ear, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Beautiful brown eyes stared into his, questioning.

"I know who that is. Come on, let's go."

They crawled the rest of the way out, luckily managing to slip back through the hidden door when no guards were walking nearby. They hurried off, diving into the shadows and back out onto the small nature path that connected their estates.

She saw the light from her window above, and tested some of the roots to make sure they could bear her weight once more. She turned around to face him.

"What are you going to do with the thing in the bag?"

"Give it to my Uncle, I guess. Hopefully he believes me." He shrugged. It was hard to gauge his Uncle sometimes.

She smiled sweetly at him. "I don't see why he wouldn't. I do."

A dark blush formed on his cheeks. His breathing became rapid; palms sweaty, as he made the split-second decision to lean in, connecting their lips for only a moment, before stepping back.

She stood there, her mouth slightly parted in shock. Then, slowly, a glowing smile formed on her lips.

A cough caused them both to whip their heads to the side, in unison. Before them stood the very last two people they thought they would ever run into that night.

"Would you like to explain to your grandmother and Councilman Serules where you two have been?"

[-]

"Valdras…have you noticed…anything?"

His eyes became large, red disks. He hated it when she asked these questions. It was a trap.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to his wife as she cut some ash yams for their son. He was a fast-growing baby, and already well on his way to eating solid foods.

"You lost weight?" She was obsessed about her weight gain during her pregnancy, as well as after their son was born. It was all in her head.

"NO."

He cringed. Wrong answer.

"About Andy."

Thank Azura. He went back to repairing the handle on his sword. It had started to become loose, and was bothering him during the recent training he would partake in with the Windhelm guards. "You mean her being pregnant?"

"Ok, so that just isn't me who noticed. Should we say something? Why don't you talk to Miraak about it?"

His tool slipped out of his hand and flew off the table in a large clang. He got up, bending over to swoop it up. A large hand appeared, swiping his tool up first.

Miraak handed it to him, with a sly look on his face.

"Talk to me about what, exactly?"

"You knocking my cousin up, and the apparent secrecy that follows."

Michelle was standing in the kitchen, her hand on her hip, and a wooden spoon pointed straight at Miraak.

He ignored her, turning towards Valdras.

"They are looking for her."

His eyes went wide again. "How do they know?"

"I have heard…rumors. There have been disruptions in our dreams. They are desperately seeking her. Something had changed in their plans, and the need for stronger blood is greater than ever. How they found out about her significance, I cannot say."

He put his hand on Valdras' shoulder, to focus the gravity of what was to be spoken next.

"We will need to take an offensive soon." He threw a letter on the table in front of Valdras. "Serena and Vilkas have found, what appears to be, the main base of operations, near Yngol Barrow. They are losing time. Without all the artifacts, they cannot afford to miss the positioning of the moons. The stars aligned this way once before..."

"You mean when he awoke? Back in the second era?"

"The closer to this astronomical event, the more desperate they will become. "

He looked back at Michelle.

"Remember, they will kill anything in their way. You are to remain discrete. She is not to leave this house, understand?"

"Will she need permission to use the bathroom outside, as well?"

Miraak growled.

Her eyes narrowed, as she gave him the middle finger and went back to making dinner.


	32. Chapter 32

Decided to add translations in, since they'll be talking more in the dragon language from time to time.

Thanks for reading. :-)

[-][-][-][-][-]

Alone, once again.

She rolled on her back, letting her arms spread out, while the bottom half of her swollen body remained twisted in the sheets.

"But the truth…re…mains…you're...gone."

She suddenly felt a warm hand brush against the curve of her hip, and run up her side.

"Grik mal sahvot, dii lovaas lokraan." _(such little faith, my song bird)_

She grinned.

"Nunon ol pogaas ol hi lost ofan zey." _(only as much as you have given me)_

She froze. Where in the fuck did she learn to say that?

"That was… _different_."

"You are becoming fluent to that which bound itself to you."

"A copy of Rosetta Stone for Skyrim?"

He laughed. It was moments like this when she missed her sight the most.

Miraak had stayed with them for the past three months. Her pregnancy was now noticeable, as much as she tried her best to hide it. He put an item on the nightstand, as a depression formed next to her arm in the bed. She scooted back, putting a pillow behind her for support, leaning against the headboard. She grabbed the sheets to pull them up over her chest, and felt his hand yank it back down.

Her eyes were glancing off to the side, but her eyebrows hit her hairline.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Quite."

She snorted. She felt his hand grab hers, and a warm cup was placed in her hand. She smiled, taking in a deep breath of-

Warm milk?

"What the fuck is this?"

"What you'll be drinking for the remainder of your pregnancy."

Her face distorted, as she bit on part of the left side of her bottom lip.

"I changed my mind…you don't have to stick around."

"Drink it."

She lacked the energy to protest. Plus, she was naked. That immediately depleted her confidence level. Naked and _very_ pregnant. She squinted her eyes shut and took a few gulps. Her gag reflexes kicked in, and she almost puked some of it back up.

"Oh my god, no, no, no. No more of that. Ever."

She heard him chuckle, taking the cup from her hand, then reaching around, pulling her into his chest. They remained that way for a while. He was lightly caressing the side of her face and arm, as she made circular motions on his chest.

"So…anything on your mind?"

"Something you will not like."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Our child, will she be like you? Because I seriously cannot handle this ominous shit in massive quantities."

Laughter filled the bedroom. He kissed her head.

"I must leave."

She sighed…again. "For how long."

"I do not know."

"I enjoy our vague conversations. Next time, I'll bust out the Magic 8 Ball and probably get more definitive answers." She choked up a little at the end, calling bluff to the sarcastic calm she was trying to portray.

He paused, lifting her face towards him. Her green eyes were wet, glistening in the morning light.

"Andrea, I will be there for the birth of our daughter."

He kissed her on the lips, as tears fell down her cheeks. Damn her hormones.

A quietness blanketed the seemingly star-crossed lovers. Actually, Andy hoped they weren't star-crossed. She really couldn't handle a normal relationship, let alone whatever the fuck this one was classified as. She didn't need Romeo and Juliet sprinkled into the mix.

A child's laugh from the other side of the door broke through the silence.

"I never told you what happened when Rommes died."

His hand stopped mid-way in her hair. "Died?"

"He had _that thing_ in him. The demon. His soul…it was corrupted."

She stopped her hand movements.

"He died in my arms, black fluid pouring from his eyes and mouth. I didn't tell them…I didn't know how to."

He went back to stroking the side of her face. "Is that how you lost your sight?"

"I had to choose. I had to give something of myself. His original soul…it is gone." She put her hand over her abdomen. "Our daughter, I could not bear such a thing."

He kissed her head again. "Our child was created outside of the confines of Hermaeus Mora's influence. He was, and is, unable to touch you, due to Akatosh's mark. Your cousin was not protected."

"You knew?"

"I had...suspicions, but the Prince of Fate and Knowledge is an intelligent foe. He is able to hide his presence from the gods themselves."

He placed a hand over hers.

"Can you feel her?"

His eyes narrowed, as he focused his senses. "Yes. Her soul is intertwined with yours right now. You would only notice its absence, I'm afraid. It will separate itself as the birth nears."

He paused, grinning. "She's irritated."

"Probably that horrible shit you just forced _her mother_ to drink."

His mood suddenly changed to a more serious tone.

"I must be honest, I am unfamiliar with the details of our…situation. In ages past, female Dovahkiin would come to exist, perhaps once every few hundred years, yet none ever birthed a child. Only one was ever recorded to survive past infancy. During my previous life in the mortal realm, there had been two."

"What happened to them?"

"They were fed to Alduin, by means of ritual and sacrifice."

He twisted a lock of her hair with his finger. It had regained some length in the past few months. "The first one was my sister. However, I feel this is not unknown to you."

She strummed her fingers lightly, thinking back on the dream with the cottage. "Yes…. I…saw, her." She intertwined the fingers of their hands. "I saw your mother. I saw what they did."

"Then you have seen more than I have. I never knew them, as I was given to the Dragon Priests shortly after my birth."

She laid her head back on his chest. "She was…beautiful. Golden blonde hair; blue eyes, like yours. Her face was kind."

He squeezed her shoulder.

"There was another woman…black hair…cold eyes…"

He hummed. "Ah, yes, the high priestess. She eventually found that her allegiance had been misplaced."

"What happened to her?"

He was silent for a moment, as if debating whether to answer.

"Is it hard to talk about?"

A chuckle rumbled from underneath her ear that was on his chest. "No, I find the memory to be enjoyable."

He leaned his head down close to hers. "I ripped her heart out."

She reached her hand up aimlessly, feeling around until she placed it flat on his cheek. She gently patted it a few times. "Good."

[-]

She heard a tap on her window. Lucia rolled over in her bed. Her arms were sore. Grandmother had punished her by adding additional chores. This included cleaning out the _entire_ guar pen. Her eyelids grew heavy, once again.

*tap*

She let loose an annoyed sigh. Dragging herself out of bed, she went over to the window, pushing the glass outwards. There was no branch nearby, or anything for that matter. Weird.

"Psst."

She looked down and her stomach flipped. It was Llorys. He flashed a mischievous grin at her. She shook her head; there was no way she was going to sneak out again. Her aching arms helped to bolster her resolve.

She made a sweeping motion with her hands. "Llorys, go away. If I get caught again, I think my grandmother will kill me. It would be easier if she did."

He chuckled.

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"In a pile of guar dung right now."

He yanked on the roots that grew on the side of the mansion, then pulled himself up.

"Llorys… _what are you doing_?!" she whispered harshly.

His hands gripped the window edge, and he pushed off his foot, but slipped. Lucia reached out, grabbing his hand, and leaned backwards, pulling him through the window.

She was in her nightgown, her hair unbound and wild. It had grown substantially over the past year. Other things had started to grow as well, and she had taken to tightly wrapping long straps of cloth around her chest; trying to flatten it back to how it should be.

It seemed to have all started when she had woken up with blood in between her legs. She remembered screaming, thinking that she was dying. They had just arrived in Blacklight. Her grandmother had explained to her what happened, and what would continue to happen; how it was natural, how every woman went through it.

It still was gross. She hated it.

Llorys was slowly walking around her room, picking up items, making a face, and then tossing them back. She rolled her eyes. A bad habit she had picked up from her mother.

She sighed and whispered "let me get changed."

She leaned over the other side of her bed, and slipped on her chores' trousers. Hefting her gown over, she threw it on the floor, and swiped her tunic; tossing it over her head, and pulling down on the hem.

She stunk like a guar. Oh well.

Turning around, she saw Llorys standing there with his mouth open. Her eyebrows rose in a questioning manner. "So where are we going?"

He stared for a few more seconds, then snapped out of it. "Uh…oh, right. The docks."

"Wait, aren't you grounded?"

He flashed her a brilliant smile.

She chewed her bottom lip, her eyebrows furrowed together. "We're just going to get caught again…"

"You have such little faith in me."

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Yep."

His cheeks reddened a bit in embarrassment.

"Ok, here's the deal. We get caught again, which I know we will, YOU are doing my chores this time."

"Wait, what do I get out of it?"

She looked around her.

"Well you _are_ in the bedroom of a girl. Isn't this what a 'scandal' is?"

He waved his hand dismissingly. "Nah, that's only with old people who have too many girlfriends."

She thought for a moment, then nodded. Yeah, that sounded right.

He lifted himself out of the window, maneuvering down the vines again. Lucia took one last look at her door. She had an idea. "Llorys, give me a minute."

She pulled out a piece of parchment, writing a few sentences, then placed it on top of her pillow. Turning back around, she jumped her window sill, and slid down the vines, landing on both feet. She dusted her pants off.

"What's at the docks?"

"Information."

"How do you keep finding out about these things?"

He shot her another devious grin. "I have good hearing." He pointed towards his ears.

"Because they're pointed? You hear more?"

"Yep."

Lucia shrugged. It made sense. Back in Whiterun there were only Nord kids, and she knew very little about elves, outside of her father. She looked at Llorys. He kind of reminded her of him. Not so much how he looked, outside of being Dunmer, but maybe in the sense that he liked adventures.

The other Dunmer girls did not seem to do anything fun. They wanted to play dress up, put on make up, and talk about who they would marry. Lucia had no interest in that. Wearing that dress last week was punishment enough.

They came to the docks and immediately ducked to the side, hiding under the overgrown brush. Llorys had overheard a private conversation regarding an exchange of "vital information to our cause". The informant would be arriving by boat. He looked at the water.

"Can you swim?"

"Sort of."

"I have an idea." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him into the water. They slowly waded through the murkiness, keeping hidden within the shadows of the wooden boat landings above them. Their patience paid off, and a small boat could be seen heading to the dock on their left. They moved against the underwater portion of the dock's stone foundation; completely shrouded in darkness. Steps grew nearer, until Lucia could make the image of a man, standing directly above their heads. The boat docked, and the man above them began to speak.

"Wraithguard was taken. We do not know how they found it. We suspect strong magic at play."

They both held their snickers.

The mysteriously cloaked figure in the boat responded. "The Monahrel has been discovered. Such powerful relics may not be needed anymore, as her blood should be potent enough."

The Monahrel? Lucia had never heard that word before.

"Prepare yourself. We shall meet next in Lost Echo. For Dagoth Ur. For our Glory."

Lucia felt something brush her leg, she looked at Llorys, who was, once again, lost in thought.

The slimy thing touched her other leg, and she started to panic. The water was pitch black, and the boat had only just pushed off the dock. The man standing above them refused to move. She grabbed Llorys' shirt, shaking him.

He suddenly snapped out of it, looking at her, and she frantically pointed down. He pulled her close, motioning her to climb on his back, and took out his dagger. She maneuvered, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. She looked up; the man was still there, staring out at the boat which was moving painfully slow.

Llorys made slashing movements into the water. He jerked hard, and she saw his arm raise; his left hand gripping it. She reached over his shoulder, grabbing where his hand was. Pulling it back to her face she saw what she had suspected: blood.

He had gotten bit by a Slaughterfish. The dead carcass plopped up, slowly floating out in plain view of the man on top. She had put her hand back on his arm, silently reciting the basic healing spell her grandmother had taught her months prior. The trick was to go very, very slow, as not to emit light. It wouldn't close the wound, but it would stop any infection from spreading.

"Disgusting fish."

The man slowly walked off, the boat having disappeared in the distance. Lucia removed herself from her position on his back, as she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the shore. They crawled up to the dock, both soaking wet. She took his arm again, casting a much stronger healing spell.

The skin instantly repaired itself.

His eyes were big. "Wow."

"Aren't all elves supposed to use magic?"

"House Redoran are fighters. We don't really need magic. Yours is strong though. Especially for a Nord."

She frowned a bit, looking down at her soaked clothes. She was on her hands and knees, leaning over his stretched-out arm, while he was sitting on the edge of the dock, his legs swung over. She knew she didn't fit in here, but she never felt that she had in Whiterun either. It seemed to be her lot in life.

He noticed her mood change.

"Hey, I didn't mean it as a bad thing. I think it's pretty neat."

She glanced up with big, brown eyes. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Magic is amazing! You being better than other Dunmer makes you even more…amazing?"

She blushed. "I can teach you."

He smiled, standing up and offering her a hand. He pulled fast, and she flew upwards, giggling.

She sniffed her shirt. "At least I don't smell like a guar anymore. Just fish."

"And apples."

"Apples?"

"You smell like apples."

She giggled again. "If you say so…"

She looked back out to the water. "Going to tell your Uncle again?"

"Most likely."

"Tell me what, child?"

She turned to find Councilman Serules standing in the shadows of a tree, his hands clasped behind his back. She bowed, as custom, and he returned it; a small smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

"See you later Llorys, I need to go to bed. I'll be cleaning the guar pens tomorrow."

[-]

Niradue opened her granddaughter's bedroom door to, once again, find her bed empty. This time, she noticed the piece of parchment on her pillow. Walking over, she unfolded the note; her red eyes intensely scanning over the words.

She started laughing, eventually clutching at her sides. Uvitha came out of her bedroom, tying her robe.

"Mother?"

Niradue was trying to breathe, and handed her the note in between chuckles.

"Dear Grandmother,

I know. Guar duty again. It's not my fault this time. Boys are stupid. He wouldn't go away.

Love,

Lucia

P.S. – He's kind of cute."


	33. Chapter 33

Yngol Barrow. It was always a surreal feeling to visit these once magnificent monuments to his race.

Yngol was one of the greatest blacksmiths to grace Nirn with their presence. During his reign in the first era, he had requested a few items to be fashioned by Ysgramor's son. Priceless relics lost to time, unfortunately.

Miraak was leading the horses to a side ravine, hoping to block the icy, sharp wind that swept off the frozen ocean before them. It would do them no good if their animals succumbed to the cold.

He was deep in thought. Could his race have ever foreseen what they would fall to? Some scattered farmers and barbarians, desperately trying to eek out an existence on a mostly unwanted, and inhospitable, province of Tamriel.

Gone was the magic that ran deep within the Atmoran veins. His…people. They were ashamed of it, afraid. They held onto only the warrior conquests of old, negating all and any references to the arcane.

Had their pride led them to this?

Ever since she had fell from her world, into his, he had slowly begun to question his beliefs. What had been engrained in him since birth. The isolation in Apocrypha only strengthened these concepts…this, disillusion.

His assumptions were shattered once he returned to the mortal realm. The desecrated temples and tombs of old and distant relatives. Great palaces that heralded even greater kings...crumbled, decayed, deteriorating into dust.

His first trip to the College of Winterhold was met with taunts, shouts, and even a few guards spitting on him, as he made his way through the pathetic excuse for a town. Only one Nord existed at the college. It shamed Miraak that this boy claimed ancient, noble Atmoran blood lines. He was weak; not only in power but in mind. Selective breeding was not uncommon during the first era. Killing offspring that did not posses desired attributes was a regular practice. The boy would have never survived in an age past.

His thoughts turned to an even darker subject. His first consort…the high priestess, given to him upon the death of his presumed father. Andrea had dreamed of her, and it had taken him by surprise.

Memories flooded his mind, ones he had tried to forget for thousands of years. The high priestess had birthed a child; the second female dovahkiin. In her desire for self-preservation, she killed their child, disposing of the body in a kiln before he had ever laid eyes upon his daughter.

His first daughter had called out to him. She _screamed_ as the flames engulfed her. He remembered the blood dripping from his ears, and the panic of getting to his child, only to find a charred, tiny skeleton.

He felt the priestess' hot, still-beating heart in his hand, as the blood slowly drained to the floor. In her cold, blue eyes, he saw the confusion and fear. He had her corpse fed to the wolves.

Paarthurnax did not show this vision to Andrea, and for that, he was grateful. He did not know what she would do with such knowledge. Her beliefs…they were different than his. She was not bound by tradition.

It pained him; a new sensation he was not accustomed to. The time he had dedicated in the past few months, they had brought her fears of him to light. Most feared his power, his temperament, his cunning. His true mate only one thing: abandonment.

She found his character faulty, and always expected disappointment. He…could not blame her for it. He had left her for months at a time; once in Windhelm, another in Markarth. Regardless of the reasons, to Andrea, she took it as almost equal to betrayal.

He was unused to her culture…her expectations. For him, it was not uncommon to spend a great time apart from your consort. Nor was in uncommon to have multiple consorts. However, this was mainly for political reasons, as well as a display of power. In his first life, he had only taken the high priestess; it interested him not. After what had transpired, he had become bitter and withdrawn. He was never enslaved by the delights of the flesh, as many of the Priests had been.

He grinned. Well, he used to not be. When it came to her, he had a problem keeping his hands to himself.

"I'm not sure I can ever get used to seeing you with anything except a frown."

Valdras had made his way over to their makeshift camp, and was already obsessively poking at their fire. Miraak resumed his typical scowl and started to unload their bags from the horses.

"What are your plans for, you know, afterwards?"

He stopped his task at hand, staring off into space.

"I'm…not sure. Maybe rebuild my temple. I am afraid my presence in the mainland may cause more harm than good."

"And Andy?" Valdras looked up at him, squatting in front of the fire.

Miraak stared into the flames, contemplating the question. "I do not know. Andrea can be… _difficult_. She will detest the cold, but I cannot think of a safer location for my daughter."

Valdras shook his head as he laughed, going back to stabbing the fire again. The occasional gust of wind wasn't helping to keep the flame consistent.

"Do you love her?"

His eyes connected to red, as Valdras stared at him curiously, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Gein dreh ni lost poguk voth dez."

 _Acceptance._

[-]

The stick shift glided, as she stepped on the clutch shifting it into second. When she was a teenager, her dad had allowed her to keep an old Plymouth Roadrunner in the shed out back. She would spend weekends tinkering with the engine, trying to get it back up to running condition.

It purred along on the desolate interstate. The windows were rolled down, and the wind whipped through her, recently, dyed blonde hair.

An eight-track player was still in the dash, and Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" was blaring through the speakers. Fifth gear engaged, and she stuck her left hand out the window doing wave movements.

She felt a presence to her right and smiled, turning down the volume.

"It is absolutely amazing what you can do with your mind, dii lovaas lokraan."

She grinned. "Practice. Lots and lots of practice…" She pulled to the side of the road, and put the car in park. She turned to him.

"If we die in our dreams, do we die in real life?"

He reached his hand to her face, and ran a long finger down her jaw. "No...we will simply awaken."

She grabbed his hand and kissed it. "Good! Get out, your turn to drive."

She skipped out and walked in front of the car. The paint was still botched, and large spots of primer intermixed with some occasional rust she forgot to grind off. The point of this test drive was for the engine; the body work would come later.

He slowly opened his door, getting out and awkwardly walking over to the driver's side. Andy stretched out in the passenger's seat, kicking her sandals off and putting her feet on the dash. She grinned to herself, deviously.

 _Let's see how well you do now, Mr. Know It All._

Miraak grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. He had watched her do this from some of her other memories, but not enough to garner a comfortable familiarity with the task at hand. It made him… _nervous_. It was a feeling he did not particularly care for. He looked over and into a pair of mischievous eyes.

She was enjoying this. The harpy.

He shifted it into first, releasing the clutch, and slamming on the gas pedal. The tires squealed as they jetted forward. A choppy second came, followed up by an even choppier third. The light poles on her side were flickering by like frames in a movie reel. Her hands gripped the door handle and the sticky vinyl of the seat. She looked over at the speedometer: 150 mph

Glancing up, she saw a cement wall come flying towards them. She put her hands over her head, and screamed.

Nothing. The car engine and wind were gone, and it was silent. She put her arms slowly down, and opened her eyes. They were in a misty field. Flora she had never seen grew around them. Lightning bugs of a different color blinked in and out. The two moons of her new home gradually moved in the sky.

"Where are we?"

He was wearing something different. A cloth robe of a deep blue fabric. Adorning his head was a silver crown, with sapphires laden in the metal frame. He smiled towards her.

"This is all that remains of Atmora."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't understand. It was frozen over in a sort of, ice age, from what I could gather from the few texts that spoke of it?"

"Islands remain, caught within warmer sea currents brought from the south. I had discovered this…long before my initiation as a Dragon Priest."

"Does it still exist?"

He leaned up against the wooden trunk of an immense, low hanging tree. The branches were covered with brilliant blue flowers, which shimmered in the moonlight as they fell. This place was truly magical, as if out of a fairy tale.

"I do not know. Much of Tamriel has changed in the four thousand years I was absent. During my first life, the northern seas were easily traversable, and reaching the Atmoran mainland was possible, albeit, not desirable."

She looked down, finding herself adorned in a velvet, purple gown, intermixed with silver, silken wraps and lace. Her neck possessed a silver necklace with a large sapphire in the middle. She felt her forehead; something metallic was on it.

She glanced up at him. "Are you trying to woo me?"

He grinned at her deviously. "I dare say I have already succeeded."

She looked down again, seeing that the noticeable baby bump had formed. She put her hand on it, and rubbed.

"You were just lucky _one time_ , don't get a big head."

He laughed, moving towards her. He placed his hand on the womb housing their daughter. She was asleep as well, dreaming along with her parents. His expression changed, and he looked at the woman in front of him, with serious intensity.

"Do you want this child?"

She smacked his hands away, and backed up, putting both of hers over her abdomen. "What kind of question is that? She's _my_ child, and this is _my_ body. If you don't want her, then the door's always wide open for you to leave."

He laughed, turning from her as he took in the vision of the forgotten field that surrounded them. "I was unfair to you, Andrea. I did not ask if you were ready, or willing, for motherhood."

"No one can predict a pregnancy with that kind of accuracy, unless you're sitting on a doctor's table. Even with IVFs, the statistics are well below 40%."

He turned back to her, a sly smile on his lips. "I know when you're fertile, Monahrel."

The dream faded before the rock she threw at his head made contact.

[-]

They had been tricked.

This was merely a decoy. His aura turned orange, and a fierce shout escaped his lips, as the entire word wall shattered into pieces.

They had dared to mock him. Cursing this ancient word of power, as though their pathetic enchantments could ever affect him. They would pay for their insolence.

Valdras was searching the pockets of the apparent leader, finding nothing but a few extremely vague notes. His eyes connected to furious orange.

"Do you think…"

" ** _Yes._** "

They both took off full sprint, doubling back through the ancient tomb. Anger filled him, as his ethereal leaked through his skin, matching the turmoil inside. If she ever ceased to exist, he would purge this world with a fire it had never seen.

[-]

Suvaris was at the New Gnisis Conerclub, trying to drown away the horrible day she had at the docks. She had caught Stand-In-Shallows, keeled over in the back behind some crates. He was passed out from an overdose on skooma. Empty bottles of the narcotic surrounded him, and she was amazed the old Argonian was still alive.

Shahvee had come to her, begging that she withhold the whip. She had agreed, receiving a disappointed look from her employer, as he observed her "managerial skills". Those days were gone for her, and she had no desire to revisit them. She remembered them all too well. The cries of Argonian and Khajiit, as the task masters mercilessly cut into their flesh.

She had asked the guards to hold him in the jail for a few weeks. They would break him of his addiction, and help him ride out the withdrawal. It was partially her fault. She had spent years using it as a means to get more out of him; feeding him a bottle here and there every time he might stay late, loading an extra shipment.

Her head was in her hand, as she stared down at the nicked and gouged wooden bar. Even after the war, the Dunmer were still stuck in the wretched Gray Quarter district of Windhelm. Some things never change…

A new mug of ale was placed in front of her, and she looked up to find Ambarys staring at her with his usual, scowling face.

"Have you forgotten your roots, Suvaris?"

She rolled her red eyes, and took the new ale. "Look, Ambarys, I just came here for a drink. I don't need any trouble."

Ambarys connected glances with a figure shrouded in the corner of his bar. They had come, asking for information on the Dragonborn, Valdras.

He scowled. That milk-drinking swit. He lived in one of the largest manors, uphill on the wealthy section of the city. He had traded in his Dunmer roots long ago, preferring to skip along with Nords, willingly letting them make decisions to keep his race thriving as the lesser class, no different than the disgusting beast races. To add insult to injury, he had run off and married that Breton freak of a girl. How the Great Houses had fallen…

His red eyes glanced back over Suvaris. Here she was, groveling underneath her Nord masters, even becoming friends with such dishonorable traitors to her people. It made his stomach churn. Suvaris did not know any better. He would make her see, though.

"I have not seen Michelle visit in some time…how is she?" It pained him to bring sound to the words, almost choking up towards the end, but covering it in a cough.

Suvaris looked back up. "And when did you care about my friend, Ambarys? You had made it clear that you are no friend of the Dragonborn, or any of those who associate with him…which includes me." She eyed him with bitterness and slight disgust.

He softened his scowl. "Look, Suvaris. I may not… _agree_ with Valdras and his decisions, but that does not mean I wish complete ill towards him." It was a half-lie, and he strained to finish the sentence.

Suvaris looked down at her ale. Her vision had started to blur slightly. Maybe she was simply tired? Words seemed to pour out of her mouth, as though it was not of her own will.

"Michelle has been watching over her cousin, Andy. Remember her? She's pregnant, and I guess it's a hushed affair. Valdras and the other man are gone. They are alone." She belched afterwards. The room was becoming dizzy, and she went to stand up, stumbling against the bar instead.

Arms wrapped themselves around her, and were moving her towards the back. "It appears you have had a bit too much to drink, Suvaris. Come, sleep it off in the back. I will wake you in the morning."

He glanced to the shadows in the corner of his bar. The figure nodded back, raising a cup in the air in gratitude. Ambarys smiled.

[-]

A knock sounded on the front door. Michelle was upstairs, trying to settle Rommes down for a nap. Andy had been "instructed" to remain a recluse and hermit until they returned from tomb raiding.

She snorted. Seriously, Miraak needed to learn to chill out with the over protective vibes. They weren't even married, and he was gone most of the time anyways. Not like she'd put up with that kind of behavior married anyways. She had started to succumb to the idea of being a single mother.

Pulling herself out of the kitchen chair, she aimed herself towards the knocking; counting the steps to the front door. Unlatching the deadbolt, she swung it open slowly.

"Hello." She had a welcoming smile plastered on her face.

Silence. The coldness from outside seeped in. The hairs on her neck suddenly raised.

"Good evening, _Monahrel_."

She felt a massive blow strike her head, and she blacked out before her face connected with the floor.


	34. Chapter 34

"Dragonborn! Dragonborn!"

A guard was sprinting in full strides towards them as they pushed the doors open to the ancient city of man. Their breath was heavy, and they struggled to get the words out.

"An…attack…your wife…taken."

He pushed past them, running as fast as he could up the stone steps. Miraak was not far behind him. Guards were standing outside his door.

"Dragonborn, we have been unable to enter. The door…it is sealed by magic."

Miraak stepped forward. An orange light began to emanate from his palm. "Stand back."

Valdras pulled the guard aside. "When did this happen?"

"Last night. The patrol heard a scream, and came over to investigate. They saw two bodies being carried away by those wearing Windhelm armor. The patrol did not think much of it and returned to their station. This morning, we found the dead and stripped bodies of two of our own, floating by the docks."

The bright orange light flared, and the door shattered into thousands of splinters. The smell of burnt and charred food assaulted their nostrils. The manor was a wreck. The cultists had overturned almost every piece of furniture, sifting through the drawers, obviously looking for any items of interest.

Valdras heard a cry from upstairs. He sprinted up, his feet almost stumbling on the steps in his panic. The cry was louder, and came from their bedroom. He ran to the cupboard, and opened the doors.

His son, wrapped in a blanket, had been shoved on the bottom shelf. Michelle must have had enough time to hide him. He crashed to his knees, and pulled his son out, holding him to his chest, as he wailed.

He looked around at the disarray of his home. How would his find her? Where would they have taken them? He saw the flutter of a cloak, and the steps of his companion heading downstairs.

"Michelle!"

A familiar voice rang out, and he heard her light steps running up the stairs. She gasped for air.

"Azura help us…" He felt Survaris' arms snake around his son, and pull his son from his grasp. She hurried to what remained of the kitchen, grabbing a spilled bottle of goat's milk, and easing its contents into smaller bottle, sticking it in the fussing, wailing child's mouth.

She rocked the child back and forth. She had woken in Ambarys' arms, in a dungy bed in the back of his bar. He had drugged her. She had no recollection of what had happened after he had handed her the last mug of ale, but she could not help but think that the recent attack on Michelle and Valdras were too coincidental. She had punched Ambarys in the face, grabbing her clothes and rushing out of the bar amidst the whistles and catcalls of the lingering drunks.

Had she mentioned the pregnancy? Panic washed across her, as her red eyes met those of a dragon's, standing by the table. He was watching her.

"What do you know, Dunmer?"

She looked down at the child in her arms. He had settled, the warm milk easing his stomach pains. "I think…I know where you should start."

[-]

Miraak had him pinned up against the stone walls of his cell. Ambarys kicked, as he desperately tried gasping for oxygen. His glove broke the ash skin, and small rivers of blood began to pour down Ambarys' throat, soaking the collar of his tunic. His eyes were glazed, rolling backwards.

"Enough!" Brunwulf had descended the stairs, with Valdras and Survaris following behind. Miraak growled, throwing the cretin across the room. He proceeded to position himself against the wall, crossing his arms. He would let them have their petty sense of judgment and trial, as long as it yielded the whereabouts of his mate.

He could feel her…fast asleep. She was unconscious, incapacitated by some means. It made his blood steam. He glanced to the terrified mer on the ground.

 _Patience._

Brunwulf stepped forward, opening the jail cell. "Ambarys, you have been accused of a series of the most terrible of crimes. What say you?"

The red eyes of the defiant mer glanced to the old war hero, as he spat at his feet. "I am guilty of nothing more than upholding the glory of my ancestors, and ridding the world of the likes of traitors such as him." He pointed to Valdras.

His finger moved to Survaris. "The traitorous whore can rot with him as well. She served my needs already."

Valdras put an arm around Survaris, and squeezed. He stepped forward.

"Where are they, Ambarys?"

The bitter dark elf laugh on the floor, coughing in between rasps, as he was still recovering from having his throat squeezed. "I do not know, and even if I did, I would not tell you. If Dagoth Ur has any mercy, they are dead, bathing in their own blood."

"The interrogation is over." Miraak's voice cut through the thick atmosphere, vibrating with maliciousness. He picked Ambarys up, and reached to his left hip, pulling a sharp, ebony dagger from under his cloak.

"I promise…this will be painful."

Valdras pulled Survaris into his embrace, covering her eyes, as Ambarys' screams of torture echoed off the dungeon walls. Miraak skinned him alive.

[-]

Brunwulf had sent a few runners into the neighboring holds, with letters asking for any details of the cultists, Michelle, or Andy. It was all he could offer, as there were no leads, no nothing.

Valdras sat at the kitchen table, twirling his dagger into the planks. Suvaris had moved in, taking care of Rommes, and he could hear the laughter of his son echo from upstairs. It made his heart ache.

Miraak had been pacing. He was still unable to connect to Andrea. The cultists must have drugged her, preventing her from accessing their shared dreamscape. His anger balanced on a thin line. She was alive, and in that, he had to keep his faith.

He laughed softly. Faith. Faith was something that he had abandoned, long ago, when he realized how cruel his Dragon masters truly were. How conceded and selfish…how they kept all the power to themselves. Power that was, by right of his blood, his to partake in.

But power no longer mattered to him…not as it once did. Something else had taken its place.

A knock on the door snapped both Dragonborns out of their deep thoughts. Miraak swung the door open, still adorned in his fierce, daedric armor. The courier stuttered, a boy of no more than fifteen summers.

"I…..I…."

"Out with it, _boy_."

Valdras stepped from behind Miraak, and the courier immediately positioned himself towards the Dunmer.

"A letter for you from Blacklight."

Valdras nodded his head, slipping the boy a few septims, as he watched him sprint away in fear, glancing back over his shoulder at the imposing Nord standing in the doorway. It made him smirk, even in these morbid times.

It was from his mother. He walked back in, throwing parchment on the table. He was not in the mood.

[-]

It was pitch black in the manor, and he struck the lantern next to him in the guest bed. He had Survaris stay in the master bedroom, with his son, allowing her take care of the boy as needed. He felt guilty over what had happened to her. She blamed herself for the events that had unfolded, although she had no control over them. Ambarys had put a strong narcotic in her drink, raping her shortly after. It was, honestly, the reason why Brunwulf had turned a blind eye to his "accidental death by fire".

Miraak had burned the body, but kept the skin. No one asked questions.

He found himself in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards, trying to sate an appetite that wasn't there. He simply did not know what else to do.

He shined his lantern to the table. A blue and dragon eye peered back, startling him a bit. Apparently, he wasn't the only one where sleep had eluded them…

He sat down, throwing the plate with bread and cheese in front of him. He saw the letter from his mother. Now was as good as any time to read it, he guessed. He slid a knife underneath the flap, breaking the House Telvanni seal. A few pages of parchment fell from its contents, and he began to read.

His eyes snapped up to Miraak's, who was watching him intently. "Lost Echo…"

They sprinted out of their chairs.

[-]

The wind whipped passed them, as they rode onwards, along the road north of Whiterun. They had a small stroke of luck. A divine intervention from the gods, as it could not have been anything, but. They knew the name of the final location of the cultists, and were in hot pursuit.

Lost Echo Cave. Lucia had apparently gotten herself mixed up with Serules' nephew, a wily young mer with a knack for trouble. Not only had they confiscated one of Kagrenac's tools, Wraithguard, but they had also discovered the location of the main base of operations.

He grinned. His adopted daughter…he knew something was special about her when he first saw her in front of the Gildergreen. You did not need to have the blood of dragons to become part of their family, but you seemed to have to possess something extraordinary.

Miraak and him were riding hard and fast to the west. They estimated that they were two days behind the cultist, having gained back most of what they lost during their stagnant position in Windhelm. It was a longer route to cut through Whiterun's hold, but the Pale proved almost impossible to traverse during this time of year.

They neither stopped for rest or food for themselves; only for the horses. The location of the cave was not exactly known. Rumors eluded to a place to the west of Skyrim, buried within the mountain ridges. They would need to stop in Solitude, and ask the locals for more information.

His horse was tiring. They would be forced to stop at the stables in Whiterun and purchase two new ones, before continuing. He knew they would not rest until they reached their destination. His determination to find Michelle was enduring.

His thoughts stumbled back to the first time he laid eyes upon her on the back of the carriage, being carted off to their timely execution. He had thought her odd, and weak. His initial thought was to question how she had remained alive as long as she had.

He grinned. What a gross underestimate to her skills for survival. She had proven to be one of the most intelligent and crafty women he had ever laid eyes upon. He doubted he would have been able to accomplish even a fraction of what had transpired over the past six years, had she not been at his side.

His heart ached. He glanced to his companion to his left. The black, ominous cloak bellowed behind him, letting the light from the setting sun grimmer off his hellish armor. He was leaning forward, low, as his horse pushed forward; the heavy, hot breath surrounding the beasts face. Valdras saw a warm glow emanate from Miraak's hands, and a shimmer of blue covered the horse, only for a second. The horse pulled forward, gaining ground.

He smiled and casted his own stamina spell on his steed. In the distance, he saw the white puffs of smoke from the houses of Whiterun. They would reach it after sunset.

[-]

They were in cages. A low, red light emanated in the eerie fog that swirled around the floor. Michelle reached through the iron bars, receiving small abrasions as her skin was nicked by the rough surfaces.

She grabbed Andy's arm, trying to shake her awake. Their kidnappers had dealt her cousin a massive blow to the back of her head, and she could see the matted blood caked in her hair.

She was still out cold. Michelle didn't know for how long, because she had been unconscious as well. They had drugged them, as she felt the familiar after effects of the narcotic. This had happened before, when her and Valdras had misfortune of stumbling across Sanguine.

She curled herself up on the dirty cage floor, trying to conserve body heat. It had been awhile since she had accompanied Valdras on any excursions…well before Rommes was born. Perhaps she had grown a little soft?

A tear fell down her cheek. She prayed to God that her son was safe. It may not have been the most intelligent decision to shove him in the cupboard, but she knew they would have killed him by now if he had been discovered.

The stab wound in her shoulder had become infected. Eventually, if they didn't escape, they would die from sickness, if not at the hands of these cultists first.

A strange humming could be heard, resonating from the depths below. She looked over at her cousin again. Poor Andy. She was pregnant, by probably the worst choice in a guy possible. The cultists had grabbed her by the stomach, feeling the child within, before they had knocked Michelle over the head. It was invasive, it was horrible…she could only imagine what they were planning.

She remembers when they found Andy passed out on the floor next to Rommie, covered in that putrid black slime. She had been blinded. Since then, Michelle felt guilty…like it had been her fault, somehow. In fact, Andy being _here_ was entirely her fault. She was the first to go through the portal. If she hadn't been so stupid and stubborn at the time, she would have turned around. On top of that, she had left Andy in that horrible nightmare, over a year ago, with the psycho that eventually knocked her up.

Valdras' image came to her. No…if she had to do it again, she would step through the portal. She was selfish in that regard. She had spent over six years with him, and regretted not a single second. Looking over at Andy's unconscious body, she felt even more guilt at her thoughts.

She saw movement at the entrance. Some of the red fog swirled more violently. A full robed figure walked forward, their face shrouded in blackness. Michelle made no movement, as they walked past her cage. A key appeared, and Andy's cage door swung open, the rusty hinges squeaking. The figure walked towards her, nestling a foot under her upper torso and roughly lifted their knee up.

Andy's passed out body flopped over, her arm smacking into the bars. The hooded figure chuckled, then bent down, lifting her tunic up to expose her pregnant mid-section.

"Yes…this will do nicely." She saw woman pull a dagger from under her cloak. Michelle panicked, reaching her arm through the cage, knocking the dagger out of her hand.

The woman grabbed her arm, slamming her against the cage and snapping her humerus bone. The sick noise echoed in the damp cavern, and Michelle cried out in immense pain.

"N'wah! You, _whore_ , aren't even fit to be fed to the dogs."

The woman turned back towards Andy's limp form, only to find the dagger being thrusting upwards into her heart. Andy was still on her back, leaning upwards, shoving it further with all her might. Blood poured out of the woman's mouth, dripping on her below.

Eventually she shoved the body off, and it crumpled in the corner. Andy threw the dagger towards the other end, breathing heavily. All she saw was blackness. She wiped some of the wetness off her face. It smelled like iron; blood.

"Michelle…" her voice was weak from being unconscious for so long.

Andy wearily stumbled to her knees, using the bars for support. Fresh cuts ripped open on her hands, from the sharp irregularities of the metal.

"Michelle…are you…alright?" She felt for her cousin, fumbling over what felt like her arm. It was limp, and bent backwards.

"She…she broke my arm." Michelle leaned backwards, painfully pulling the broken limb back through. A pained cry forced itself out of her throat.

Andy felt around her cage, sticking her foot out until she made contact with the corpse on the floor. She searched for the pockets, eventually finding a key.

"Let's hope this works."

She grabbed the bars, feeling her way to the exit, then along to Michelle's cell. Scrambling with the key, she jammed it in the lock, desperately trying to turn it.

It wouldn't budge. Her cell had a different key.

Andy sobbed, falling to her knees, sticking her arm through the rusty bars to feel for her cousin. A clammy hand gripped hers.

"Andy…" Her voice was weak. "Go. Find Valdras."

Tears streamed down her face, as Michelle's hand slipped away, and she heard her body fall to the floor. She had passed out.

Blind. What good was she?

She pulled herself up, feeling along the cages, assessing her position by the echoes of her footsteps against the solid cave walls. She eventually made her way to the entrance of the room, running her hands along to sides, quietly placing her steps.

She would follow the smell of fresh air. It was all she could do. Unnatural breezes swirled all around her, distorting her sense of direction. Relief valves tripped, and she heard the distant sound of steam being released in the depths below her. Dwemer. Were they near Markarth?

Memories surfaced of her time in the ruins with Calcemo. Her near death in the blackness of the chaurus feeding pits.

 _He_ had saved her…but where was he when she needed him the most?

Her mind raced, she tried to reach deep within. _My love._

An intersection appeared, and she waited until she felt the breeze of the outside air, then proceeded in that direction. Her daughter was moving restlessly in her womb. Her soul had begun to detach itself, and she felt a second entity within her, much like what Miraak told her would happen. The birth would come soon. Maybe another month, or two, at the most. She needed to get out. She had to save Michelle, she had to save her unborn child.

Blind. Helpless. She hated herself.

How weak. How foolish. No wonder she was captured.

These poisonous thoughts spread through her mind. Her resolve was breaking.

She stumbled on some rocks, and fell through a weak point in the floor. Her back slammed against the wall, and she slid the rest of the way to the floor. Stale air permeated her senses. It was an unoccupied portion of this cave. Moving rocks clamored against each other, sending massive amounts of noise down the pathways, alerting the nearby denizens of her presence.

She heard shouting and panic in the distance. They must have found the body.

 _"_ _Monahrel…you cannot escape your fate."_ A foreboding voice resonated within her mind.

Terrified, she pulled herself up from the cold, damp floor.

 _"_ _We know where you are._ _You delay the inevitable."_

Echoes of moving feet were growing louder.

She pressed forward. It felt like an eternity. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She was desperately trying to move as quietly as possibly, cursing herself every time she tripped on the uneven terrain.

She would die. Michelle would die. Her daughter would die.

The noises eventually faded. Wherever she had fallen, the hole must have remained hidden, to her absolute shit luck.

The sweet scent of the outside air, stronger than ever, graced her keen senses. She dared to hope in her desperation. Almost there…

A hand grasped hers.

"Dark is the night before the glorious sunrise."

She smiled, tears falling. They had come.

"Monahrel, hurry."

"My cousin. I cannot leave her." She went to take a step back, but the hand held a firm grip.

"We are unable to save her now. Please, you must come with us."

Hands grabbed around her pendant, and proceeded to lift it over her head. She grabbed them.

"No…please…" she was sobbing.

"My Lady, it is cursed."

Tears poured uncontrollably as she heard the clink of her necklace hit the cave floor. Something cold and metallic was placed over her face. Pain erupted from within, and her legs gave away as she fell into the wall, barely supported by the stranger. Her daughter screamed in the womb.

Something severed. She could no longer feel him. The connection she didn't realize was there…gone.

Andy was pulled forward and lifted on top of a horse; the stranger's arms reaching around her to grab the reigns. The horse took off in a quiet trot, slipping away into the frozen forest.

The tears wouldn't stop and they dripped down on the hands wrapped around her.

She had left Michelle there to die.

He was gone.


	35. Chapter 35

They were riding towards Rorikstead. He could see the village in the distance; small clouds of smoke that caught the first rays of the sunrise, signifying dawn. They would reach Solitude by sunrise.

The horse next to him neighed, as he saw it dart off across the field in a panic. He pulled, swinging his horse around, almost losing his balance on top. Miraak had fallen, and was desperately trying to push himself back up from the ground. A painful groan came from his shaking form.

Valdras hopped off and ran over to his companion. Lifting his arm around his shoulder, he hefted the massive Nord up. A distorted look of pain was etched on his face, as his breath was raspy and hard.

"She…the connection…cut."

His eyes rolled back, and his legs gave out once more, leaving Valdras barely able to keep the both of them upright. He carefully laid Miraak back on the ground, as the Nord groaned, convulsing slightly.

Something drastic had happened, something to Andy, and it _terrified_ him. He needed to get to his wife, _now_. He thought back to what options they had available. They were still a long way from their destination, and his horse would not be able to bear the weight of both of them for long.

His pronounced eyebrows furrowed, as he thought on one option that might be available. He had forgotten, all these years later. The presence of dragons always brought fear and chaos. Even Paarthunax preferred to watch from above, avoiding to shed light to his existence at all costs.

However…there was another.

He closed his eyes, letting the ancient words pull themselves forward in his mind. His mouth opened, as the language of the dovah found their voice, once more.

" **Dur Neh Viir** "

The sound of a rip echoed across the valley, and he felt a gust of wind blow past him. The portal to the Soul Cairn opened, and an old, but familiar, friend stepped onto the soil of Tamriel.

"Ah, Qahnaarin, it has been some time…"

The old dragon stepped forward, and swerved his long neck to the figure wearily pulling itself from the ground, attempting to stand upright.

"Faal Diist Dovahkiin. .. nu daar los eldraag." ( _The first dragonborn…now this is a surprise_ )

Miraak stared at the great beast, his eyes never losing his focus, although his posture lagged.

"Durnehviir. Zu'u koraav hin yun in los nid pruz wey hin usliik gein." ( _I see your new masters are no better than the previous one_ )

The dragon snorted in irritation.

"Qahnaarin, I hope you did not summon me only to mince words with this fool."

Valdras shook his head. "No, old friend, I have a favor I must ask. We need to find a location, long forgotten in the depths of history. We also need to find it _fast_."

Large teeth fully displayed themselves, as a menacing, deep chuckle rumbled from the beast.

"Ah, yes, why of course. While I detest being ridden, I do sense the urgency of your request. I am also eager to spread my wings in the sweet, warm winds of this world. Tell me, Qahnaarin, what location do you seek?"

"Lost Echo Cave. I sense it may be a Dwemer ruin, perhaps long ago swallowed in time. There is no recollection of it in texts, as you know my ancient cousins were devious and secret in nature."

The great beast pulled its large head towards the northwest, staring off into the mountains that rose in the distance.

"Hmm. It has been some time, but I do remember a location the Deep Ones had busied themselves with. I had flown over, trying to pinpoint an easy meal. They had scattered to an opening in the mountain side. Shortly after, I had entered the Soul Cairn. No doubt, it would be a ruin now, should it still exist."

He swung his massive head back towards Valdras. "I will escort you, little one, as well as your foolish companion." He lowered his head, stretching his neck out. Valdras unhooked his packs off his horse, and slapped it on the rear, sending it off after Miraak's horse, who had long disappeared into the horizon.

He helped his Nord companion on the dragon, then mounted himself in front, tapping the scales to let Durnehviir know they were ready. The great beast pushed off the ground, as his massive wings found the needed currents to propel its mass into the sky. The fields of lowlands spread out before them, and he saw the sun in all its glory, rising over the mountains.

In the distance, he saw their destination. "Azura, please, protect my wife."

[-]

An esophagus was flung across the chamber; portions of the brain and spinal cord, intermixed. The organs splattered on the wall, slipping down into the river of blood that coated the cave floor.

Valdras lifted Michelle's naked and unconscious body in his arms. Her arm was broken and pulled from the socket, and the shoulder had an infected wound, no doubt from a dagger. Her ivory skin was smeared with red. They had cut deep runes into her flesh; some would eventually scar. Her blood coated the sacrificial alter, pooling on the floor.

They had barely made it in time, bursting through the doors right before the dagger pierced her chest. Most of her blood had been drained, and her breath was shallow. He felt the faint beat of her heart; she was barely alive. He kissed her forehead, and for the first time in his life, cried. Her body glowed with a blue mist, as he spent every last bit of mana to assure her survival.

Miraak had another cultist pinned against the wall by the throat. He was dripping with blood, an orange haze causing some of the liquid to bubble and steam. The smell of death was thick.

"Hin dinok fen kos faazaal, Zu'u kaat."

The elf stared, wide eyed.

"Where is she?"

The mer smirked at him. "The dragon whore is dead."

He ripped his throat out, slinging the contents to the side and letting the corpse pile on top of the countless others. They didn't know. She had called to him earlier; her melodic, panicked voice had ripped through his thoughts in the dead of the night, as they rode fast towards this filth laden infestation.

Shortly after, he had felt her connection sever. It had almost killed him.

He resented their reliance on that fool of a dragon, but it was only by Durnehviir that they had been able to locate the unknown entrance into this abandoned and forgotten Dwemer city. The cultists had removed most of the Falmer, as nothing remained of the previous occupants, save for an occasional pod still attached in an inaccessible region.

He had been unable to reach her in her dreams, and assumed that she had been unconscious for the duration of her abduction. Her location was still unknown. These swine possessing the knowledge to sever the connection of the dovah would be…unlikely. Something else had come into play. It was ancient and divine in nature, ruled by the Aedra. He senses picked up something near the surface.

He turned to his Dunmer companion, who still hovered over his bloodied mate. She would live.

"Valdras. We must leave."

Valdras, stood up, carrying the broken body of his wife. Miraak headed in front, his bloody cloak dragging across one of the many corpses that littered the chamber. He stopped, looking back as his companion hurried past him, towards the exit. A cultist was crawling on the floor, occasionally slipping on the blood, planting their face in it. He knelt, grabbing their chin.

"Your religion…it heralds rebirth through fire, correct?"

The mer nodded.

He stood up, casually walking towards the exit.

"Then burn."

He kicked the brazier over, lighting the entire room on fire. Screams tore through the caves and tumbled out into the dead of the night. A wicked smile crossed his lips, as he confidently moved forward, the fire raging behind him.

[-]

He was sitting in front of a fire outside, pulling his cloak around him to block the cold wind, as Valdras was in the makeshift tent to his left. Since his horse had run off with his gear, the tent had room for only one.

Or two, as he looked to see Valdras cradling his still unconscious wife in his arms. Most of her wounds had healed, and he had even spent some of his mana to assist. This eased the concerns of his companion, who had been beyond distraught.

Miraak closed his eyes, breathing in the mountain air. His heart ached. A small part of him said that she was still alive, although he could not feel her. However, he did not know if this was mere delusion. He was never one to put such credence on faith, which would eventually brand him with the title of the "Traitor".

A familiar scent whisked past, only briefly, before disappearing within a gust of wind. He stood, aiming himself in the direction it came from. He crawled over rocks and boulders, scaling some flat sections of the mountain side and slipping more than once. It was treacherous, but the more he pushed forward, the more her smell became stronger.

He pulled himself onto a ledge; white clouds covering his face with every breath. The wind stopped, as he entered a small, hidden ravine. There were trees, slowly leading downwards. A cave to the left opened; it was an entrance.

Her scent was stronger, and he walked forward, entering the cavern. It was a secret passageway back into Lost Echo Cave. His boot stepped on something irregular. He looked down, seeing the familiar glint of blue ice.

Picking up the necklace, he held it in his hands. The deep enchantments still swirled, and it casted the brilliant white light on the cave walls. Why would she leave this?

Something touched his mind, and his eyes narrowed, as his mouth formed a sneer. His hand clinched the pendant, as he swirled around, back into the elements, his cloak fluttering behind him.

First, though, he would dream. Then he would bathe this world in his enemy's blood.

[-]

"Where is she?"

"She is safe, Dovahkiin."

He closed his eyes.

"I apologize; it was necessary to sever her connection to you. It is only temporary."

The great dragon lifted his head towards the sky.

"We presumed she had reached out to you, while wearing the pendant. We feared it would give them the knowledge to tap into your bond, furthering their ability to locate her."

He opened his eyes once more.

"No, that was wise, old friend." It was why Miraak had not responded to Andrea when she called for him, as much as it had pained him to do so. His instincts had told him it was a ruse is disguise.

Paarthurnax looked down upon the First Dovahkiin.

"Finish them."

The dream faded.

[-]

She had been at High Hrothgar for over a month. Her daughter stretched inside her womb, eager to begin life anew. She placed a hand over her protruding abdomen, rubbing against the infant.

"Calm down, sweetheart. Be patient."

He was still absent in her dreams. She had received some assurance that her cousin had survived the ordeal, from the gossip from the town below. The Greybeards had been forced to retrieve some additional supplies and would bring her the local news. Apparently, hers was to be the first birth this ancient monastery had ever hosted, so the old men weren't entirely prepared. It had shocked the town below to see the ancient men leave the monastery, let alone multiple times.

The cold air whipped past, cutting through her thick cloak. She wished she could see what was around her and wondered if it was similar to her first dream with the bronze beast. The dragon was near, she could feel it. Her ears would pick up the flapping of massive wings from time to time.

The old men who lived in the monastery were kind, but quiet. The silence added to her own feeling of isolation. It had been almost a month since she heard word of Michelle's rescue. She had heard nothing of Miraak. He had to of known where she was, yet he had sent no word.

Once again, left alone…like some neglected dog, eagerly waiting at the door for their master to return. She placed her hand over her womb. She wished that he would, perhaps, change, but it was a silly notion to expect that of people. As much as it pained her, she would move on, more so for her daughter. Her baby needed stability.

Before she lost her sight, she had read much about the other provinces of Tamriel. The more populous areas seemed to be better options for the handicapped, per say. She needed a large city, where everything was nearby; something that bolstered running water, or public transportation. Over the past few weeks, she had worked on developing a form of braille. It was an idea she could market for a job, and more than likely succeed, especially in the Imperial City.

A large movement of wind echoed down the mountain. She turned her head to the right, as a large thud was followed by the shake of the earth. She smiled, moving forward slowly, as she felt each stone step, making her way to the large open yard. The snow crunched under her shoes, as her cloak fluttered in the artic wind.

"Monahrel…we meet at last."

She stuck her arms out, and suddenly felt the massive head of a dragon between them.

"Dii hil los lotjiik wah koraav hi." _(My heart is overjoyed to see you)_

A warm chuckle vibrated through the great dragon. He sniffed, placing his muzzle near her protruding stomach. She felt her daughter move.

"Ah, little one. So eager. Your soul burns bright."

She placed a gloved hand back over swollen abdomen.

The Greybeards had insisted on dressing her in traditional wear, usually given to women of high stature within the old dragon cults. Her gown was stitched with the finest embroidery she had ever felt, although she did not know the color. Upon her head, she wore an ornate mask, which covered her eyes. Whether they had foreseen her blindness or it was merely coincidence, she could not say. It kept her hidden though, from the cultists that still desperately sought her and her unborn child. Until they received official word from Valdras, and _him_ , that the cultists had been removed, she would continue to wear it faithfully.

Her hands were covered in a thick velvet. She had refused what they offered at first; insisting that a plain robe would be more than enough. They were adamant, and she eventually caved to their request, as not to offend them.

"She will come soon. You must prepare."

And with that, the great beast pushed off the earth, into the sky once more.


	36. Chapter 36

She stabbed at a pile of dung with her shovel, groaning as she hefted it up, throwing it off to the side.

Was he cute? Kind of. Was he worth this? Not at all. Were there other boys? Meh.

Perhaps it was best that way, anyways. Her arms were sore, and she grimaced with each flex of her muscles. The gate swung open and latched, and she looked up.

"NO."

She turned her back to him, leaning over to attack a new pile of dung. He had a bucket and shovel in his hand. His Uncle said it was poor taste to let someone take the full punishment for actions you had a hand in. He also said he would tan his hide if he didn't get out there and help the "poor girl".

He heard her grunt, as a large pile of dung was tossed over the fence into a bucket. A guar walked to her, nuzzling her shoulder. She tried to ignore it.

"Go away and quit eating so much."

It had been well over a month since their last adventure. Her grandmother was quite strict with her chores and related punishments. While Llorys had gotten off with a slap on his wrist, he saw that Lucia bore the brunt of it. He frowned, throwing his bucket down and taking a stab at a pile of feces.

"Thanks to you, I have permanent guar duty every day." Her voice was bitter and strained, as she scraped some more dung off the dirt floor.

"I'm sorry. I promise I will help."

She snorted. "I have been out here for weeks, and this is the only time you showed up…after your uncle yelled at you."

He stopped, mid shovel. "How did you know?"

She stood, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. "I found out that you don't need pointed ears to overhear things you are not supposed to."

She looked over at him. He had a grin on his face, as his eyes locked with hers. The intensity made her nervous, and the butterfly feeling came back in her stomach. She looked away, staring off into the distance, her cheeks a little red.

The grounds keeper had quit, due to a dispute with the gardener. She was only punished to clean the guar pens for a week, but it had been extended, indefinitely, until a new tenant was hired. Her grandmother was called for an urgent meeting with House Telvanni a few days ago. A land dispute, of sorts. It was on the island being contested. This was not the first time she had left for something similar. It usually took a week, nor more than two.

However, in the mean time, she was left to upkeep the animal pens, the best she could.

Something flashed in the rocky terrain. She squinted her eyes. A chill ran down her spine.

Llorys noticed her rigid for, and stood up, and turning out to face where she was. He didn't see anything…

"What is it?"

It flashed again. Something felt...off.

"A flashing. Something isn't right." It flashed again. This time an image popped in her mind, and she dropped her shovel. She grabbed Llorys, pulling him with her, as they jumped the fence, sprinting back to the house.

She opened the cellar door, and pushed him in, then shut the doors, barring it. She grabbed him, pulling him back in the corner. They sat there, holding onto each other; Llorys was greatly confused as much as Lucia was terrified.

He heard a footstep. She grabbed him, putting a finger over his lips to signify the need for silence. The pitch blackness of the cellar robbed them of almost all light.

The steps multiplied, and they held on a little tighter. A sinister voice cut through the intensity.

"Come out, little ones. We mean no harm."

His eyes narrowed, as he rolled them. _Yeah, right_ …

"We feel you, _girl_. Your magic is too strong to hide. We will find you, and when we do, not even your pathetic excuse for a god will save you."

Lucia started to shake, and he held her tighter. A shadow blocked the few rays of light leaking in from the cellar doors. They startled when the doors were yanked, harshly. The latch strained under the force.

"We will feast upon your corpses. None live that defy our Lord!"

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to detach from Llorys. Her hands worked together, as she tried to calm herself, focusing on her summoning. A bright light formed, as fire swirled between her hands. Llorys watched, amazed.

The latch gave out, and she let the fireball fly into the damp soil. A fire atronach arose, twirling as it lobbed a large bolt into the first man's face, turning him to ashes. Llorys jumped forward, tackling the next one that appeared. The man was twice his size, and easily overpowered him, slamming the boy on the ground, rendering him unconscious. He raised a sharp, dagger over his head, readying to bury it in the boy's chest.

His dagger was forced to the side, right before it contacted skin, and the man felt himself being thrown off. He regained his bearings. The girl had casted a strong protection spell. His sights turned to the small Nord in the corner. Her atronach was outside, already being reduced to ashes.

She did not possess the blood of dragons, but it was just as valuable, albeit diluted. How she had remained unnoticed to them all this time had to have been the work of those meddlesome Aedra. However, she had made a grave mistake the last time they interfered in affairs not concerning them: she had healed the boy.

He was the one standing above them, as he pretended to let them think that they were hidden that night. Afterwards, he sent word and quickly had the body of their Lord moved. Her magic though, it was strong, as well as unique. His interest in her paid off, and his research yielding something ancient, something powerful. They had discovered another source for blood, should that of the Monahrel fail.

He jumped up, lunging towards her. She only had to come back alive, her condition wasn't a concern. He pinned her down, bruising her arms, as she squirmed. He gathered her wrists in one of his large hands. His other hand smacked her across the face, causing her nose to bleed. He rammed his knee in between her legs, as he started to tear at her clothes.

"The more you squirm, the worse I'll make it." She held back a sob, as her eyes glazed over. She knew what was going to happen.

He felt something grab his shoulder, pulling him back in one swift motion. He looked down. A glowing, red daedric blade was punctured through his chest. He watched it turn, as it cut downwards, a hand over his mouth to muffle his blood curdling screams.

Miraak pushed the dying corpse off, letting it hit the wall. He saw the two children before him. A Dunmer boy was unconscious on the ground. In the corner was a wide-eyed Nord girl, staring at him with intense curiosity, but not fear. She shakily went to sit up, wiping the blood from her nose.

He closed his eyes. Her aura…it was familiar…

"Valdras' daughter, I presume, although that is not all that you are, child." He knelt next to the boy, lifting him up with ease. "Come."

She jumped up, following close behind, as Miraak lead them out, into the woods, towards the back of Counsilman Serules' property. Corpses were everywhere, some completely severed in half. She saw the old mer run up and meet them half way, taking Llorys from his arms.

"How many?" They rushed inside.

"A dozen. I saw two runners head back. My intuition tells me there are more positioned at various points of the city."

They shut the door and latched it. She watched as the large Nord casted a strange spell she had never seen. It slowly grew from his palm, and as he placed it on the door, the low, yellow glow seeped into the wood, spreading outwards. He stepped away, as the spell continued to weave itself into the door, skipping to the walls.

She stepped up, daring enough to touch it. A warmness spread on her hand, and another image flashed in her mind.

"Dethl."

He watched her. She was young…she had not learned the necessary skills to control what she possessed. While he detested any form of training from mer, it was the best this new era could offer. Unfortunately, it had almost gotten her killed, among other things.

She went over to Llorys, who had been placed on a bed. He was still unconscious, and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it. It was times like these when she wished her real mom and dad were still alive. She wiped her nose, realizing it was still bleeding. A tear fell, as she started to come to terms with what recently transpired.

 ** _Despair not, child._** **** ** _Such atrocities are not woven within your fate._**

She turned to him, her eyes widened. He nodded, confirming that what she heard was correct, subtly gesturing that she attempt to communicate, as well. He walked to her, gently grabbing her chin to look at her nose, casting a healing spell. She closed her eyes, focusing on her thoughts. She strained, envisioning what she wanted to say: **_how is this possible?_**

 ** _Because no less would be expected from a daughter of Jhunal._**

"Lucia, my dear, are you okay?" The touch on her shoulder snapped her out of her concentration, and she looked up at Counsilman Serules. His red eyes looked over her face, concerned. She shook her head slowly, and turned back to his nephew on the bed. The old mer squeezed her shoulder, remaining behind her. He glanced at her torn shirt, his heart aching as he held her a little tighter.

"She will need to stay here, until I clear them out. None are to know. I have casted a powerful spell on your home to assure this. It will dissipate with time."

 ** _We shall meet again._**

The Counsilman walked with Miraak towards the back entrance. He stood, at least, half a head taller, his ominous armor casting bizarre shadows on the illuminated walls.

He brought the old Dunmer closer. "Your nephew owes her his life. I expect you to protect her with yours." Gurear nodded in understanding. It was what he would do, regardless.

He stepped out into the damp air, casting an invisibility spell, as he slunk into the shadows of the trees. His mouth formed a wicked smile, as his eyes narrowed in on his target in the distance.

(-)

His eyes slowly opened. It was dark, with only a lantern light flickering. His vision was blurry, and he blinked a few times. A raging pounding started in his head, and he groaned, wincing.

A low glow sparked, and he felt the soothing feeling of a healing spell, except it was much more calming than what he typical received after training with the guards. He moaned slightly, letting a deep sigh release.

His eyes shot open. Brown curls came into view. He blinked a few times. He went to sit up, and felt her push him back.

"Lie still." She narrowed her eyes, focusing on her casting, as she moved her hands to cradle his temples between her palms. The trick was to go slow, and intermix it with a calming spell. It was good practice, but she wished it would have been on better terms.

His hands snaked around her wrists, and lifted them. "I'm fine, you can stop now." The pain immediately started again, and he winced, letting go of her hands. "I changed my mind."

She giggled, resuming her healing. Her mana was lowering, and she began to breath heavy. He was taking a lot more healing than the little baby guar needed, the last time she practiced this.

He was feeling phenomenally better. "Where are the healers?"

She stopped, her eyes looking hurt. "Am I not doing it right?"

"No, you are. Just surprised."

She took a few deep breaths, trying to let her mana replenish. "We are to stay here, until your uncle tells us it's okay to go outside. No one can come in the house. I guess that makes me your healer."

She started again, this time scaling back the calming. It was taking too much to control the dual cast.

"How'd we make it out?"

"We were saved."

His mind recalled the last images he had, before his head was slammed on the ground. "How am I not dead?"

"Protection spell."

He grinned, grabbing her wrist again, squeezing a little. "I'm glad you're my best friend."

She smiled, continuing her casting. "Me too." He noticed her grimacing as he squeezed her wrist. He lifted it to find large bruises covering half of the skin. He looked at her shirt, seeing her breast band poking through the dirty rips in the front.

"Oh Azura…Lucia…"

Her spell failed, as her concentration broke. Tears started to form, and he sat up, pulling her into an embrace. She lifted her legs up and curled into him, sobbing into his shirt. He rocked her a bit, like he remembered his grandmother doing when he was a child.

Gurear watched from the shadows on the other side of the doorway. He hung his head in shame. How could he had failed to protect them? He had grown too trusting and complacent in his old age. Is this what his race had been reduced to? Fanatics and traitors. The disintegration of the Tribunal had left the populous lost, wandering without purpose, without guidance. Now with the White-Gold Concordat, religious upheaval seemed even more ripe for the picking.

He turned away from the two, casting his gaze out through the windows, as his mind wandered…

[-]

He knelt in front of the alter. The body of his Lord lain, wrapped in the finest cloth known to Tamriel, before him. They had mummified his remains, preventing the further deterioration of his blessed body. The candles burned bright, illuminating the cavern walls. The jewels adorning his body shimmered, giving his fragile corpse an ethereal form. Such was his god-like nature, as it was, even in death.

They were awaiting the blood of the Monahrel. The means to resurrect him into something to rival the Numidium were lost. The digressions of his fellow Dunmer were paid for in blood. Failure was not tolerated.

He reached out, touching the wrapped brow of his Lord. Yes…he knew his death was imminent. For he had failed, as was planned. Yet, he would not idly sit back and accept the fates that were handed to his people. The Chimer would rise, once again.

The Aldmeri Dominion…he cursed that name. Those fools, who dared to claim the same graces as the gods themselves. They were weak, only bolstered by their remote, cowardly islands in the southwestern seas. They were too weak to destroy the Chimer when they were mere dissidents and nomads, they would stand no chance once their Lord arose.

He had dispatched the local regiment onto Blacklight, to obtain the Nord child of Aedric decent. This was a safe-guarding measure. They would need every drop of her blood, but it would be enough for their Lord to breath the Nirn air, once again. Other sources of powerful blood could then be sought out, and given, slowly bolstering his strength. If more shreds of the heart could be obtained, then his rightful divinity would be at hand.

One of the prophets burst through the chamber doors.

"Do I need to remind you the punishment for your transgressions on this blessed chamber?"

"Master, something is wrong! You must see…"

He sighed, standing up. He would punish this prophet later.

They hurried through the cavern corridors, heading up ramps, nearer and nearer to the surface.

The aired, dry mountain air permeated his senses, and he stepped out into twilight. Torches around the entrance were kept low, illuminating barely enough light to see within the immediate area. He glanced up; a Dunmer man was standing in the clearing, deadly still.

He turned to the prophet next to him. " _This_ …you drug me away from our preparations for this?"

The prophet signaled the archer positioned on the top of the cave. He pulled an arrow, and it flew, embedding itself into the man. He didn't flinch. The master's eyes narrowed, as he walked to the figure, a fireball readied in his right hand.

The closer he got, the more it seemed _off_. The fireball in his hand flickered, and as he approached the man, recognition followed from the features he saw.

"Ambarys?"

He walked closer still, until he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

 _His eyes were voids._

He let the fireball loose, and it singed Ambarys on impact. He did not flinch…he did nothing. The skin began to burn away, and he saw something that shocked him underneath: it was just his skin, stretch across wooden planks.

He yelled, signaling for an imminent attack. A few of the spotters outside rushed in with him. They would need to evacuate and move the body. There was still time, even if they had to do the ritual on the back of a carriage, it would be done before the planets misaligned.

They sprinted down the various ramps and passageways, grabbing the most important items, leaving everything else. A loud cracking echoed through the corridors, and he felt the tremors of stone moving. Some screams sounded from the entrance.

"Cave in! We're trapped!"

He smiled to himself. He knew of another passage, deep within the heart of the mountain. Only he was aware of it, which was well enough. He could slip out with their Lord, leaving the rest as decoy, keeping their attackers off his trail.

He ran into the blessed chamber, checking to make sure that his Lord was still intact. The candles slowly flickered from his rapid entrance, as the still air moved lazily about. He heard more shouts behind him, and glanced around, his hand on the heavy, ornate doors.

He saw a Daedroth come around the corner, as the far end of the hall. The prophet which warned him of the outside tripped, in his panic to get away. A large, razor lined snout, hovered over, as the creatures long, clawed arms pulled the prophet up. It sniffed, then opened its jaws, sticking the prophet's terrified head in and bit down, pulling on the torso. His horrific screams bounced off the walls, as the sound of tearing flesh and bone filled added to the chaos.

The master slammed the doors shut, barring it across. Other began pounding on the doors, desperately trying to gain entrance to the only safe room left, as the shouts and begging became louder. He dropped to his knees, putting his hands over his ears, as the sounds of them being slaughtered tore through the cavern depths.

Moments, hours…he did not know. Eventually, it was all silenced. Through the cracks of the ornate doors below, he saw blood seap in. Everyone was dead…

He stood, turning towards the alter. He would need to carry their Lord himself, through the secret passageway, and attempt the ritual alone. His own blood should suffice.

 _Yes, of course._

He grinned, grabbing some blankets, and swaddling the mummified corpse. He carefully lifted it over his shoulder, and proceeded behind the alter, pushing a hidden button behind a torch stand, mounted on the wall. The stone creaked, lifting back and sliding to the side. He stepped through, not even glancing back as he hit the switch on the other side, closing the secret entrance.

Darkness surrounded him, and he crept forward in the narrow passageway. He had never been down this route, but had sent a believer to scout it out, creating a map for him. As his reward, he slit the scout's throat.

He stumbled out of the narrow passageway, into a larger chamber. Moonlight from above poured through some cracks. He had no realized how close to the surface this portion was. There were items left over from a previous residency, many centuries ago. He pushed forward, coming to a dead stop.

In his path, he saw a large figure, sitting prostrated like the Jarls of Skyrim. Moonlight reflected off a black, metallic surface, and he saw the glowing eye of a dragon, casually glancing over him.

"I was expecting a God, yet all I see is a pathetic corpse, holding decayed and forgotten bones."

The accent was thick, and he knew at once who had found him. He carefully laid his Lord's remains down, standing back up straight, as he readied a powerful fire spell. He positioned his arm back, and swung it forward, releasing the large bolt.

In the blink of an eye, the Dragonborn had disappeared, and the bolt shattered the chair, sending pieces of wood and splinters flying. He felt hands wrap around his neck, as looming figure stood before him. The large Nord straightened his fingers, and thrusted upwards into his chest, reaching around his heart and yanking it out.

His eyes watched in horror and despair. His Lord…their plans…his race…

"Nothing withstands Time, velothi. We are all subject to it, and we all change, as result. Your race, in particular, should understand that."

He fell to his knees, his eyes casted upon the wrapped remains of his Lord. His eyes glazed over, as his nervous system went into shock, and his brain began to shut down. The last thing he saw was his still beating heart, thrown on the ground next to his face.

Miraak walked to the wrapped figured on the ground. He hefted it up, throwing it unceremoniously over his shoulders, and proceeded towards the exit he recently made in the ceiling. He easily carried the carcass up, throwing it on top as he pulled himself out of the forgotten chamber below.

He continued down until he circled back to the entrance of the cave. There he threw the corpse of Dagoth Ur in one of the basins, tossing in some wood and relighting the brazier. The fire roared, and the mummified remains quickly disintegrated. A wind picked up, and ash swirled around, scattering the last remnants of something best left in the past.

His sights turned to the mountain tops in the distance, glancing at the tallest peak, barely visible in the moonlight.


	37. Chapter 37

So this is the last chapter. Sorry the story was barely over 60,000 words, I wanted to apologize for the shortness. I sort of went too fast in the beginning, as it was mentioned in the comments section.

Thanks for reading. This was my first fanfiction, as well as my first attempt at writing, outside of technical literature. Comments are always welcomed. :-)

I may do a spin-off later.

[-][-][-][-][-]

Serena held out her hands, as the child attempted to walk towards her. Rommes was growing at an accelerated rate. She glanced up to Michelle, who noticed it from the corner of her eye.

"If one more person asks me what's in my breasts, I am going to kill them. Besides, those days are _finally_ over."

Serena laughed, stepping forward to catch the slobbering mess before he fell backwards.

"Do you think Andy is okay? Has Valdras heard anything?"

Michelle shook her head, as she rummaged through the cupboards, looking for salt. "Nothing yet. I wish they had technology here. All we'd need is a text message that said 'done'. Instead, I am forced wait months for a courier. It's bullshit."

Serena's eyebrows furrowed. Sometimes Michelle said the strangest things. She knew she wasn't from _here_ , but the things she would go on about…they seemed quite far-fetched.

"On top of that, she's with unknown people, at an unknown location. She doesn't need strangers and weirdos grabbing at her crotch when the baby comes."

Serena picked up Rommes. "I'm pretty sure Miraak will get there in time."

Michelle pointed a wooden spoon at her. "Like I said, strangers and _weirdos_." She grabbed her arm, applying pressure. It still ached, from time to time. Eventually, it should stop, but it may take a good amount of time.

It had been a month since she woke up in Valdras' arms in a tent in the mountains, naked, except for a cloak wrapped around her. The cultists had almost killed her, and some of the symbols cut into her body were still there. It wasn't _all bad_. She rather liked the swirling one they gave her on her ass. It was kind of as good as a tattoo. A conversation starter, in the least.

 _Who was she kidding, it was horrible_. The worst part about it was the last memories she had were of a very pregnant and blind Andy, aimlessly reaching for her through dungeon bars. Miraak had said that she was still alive, but she had vanished without a trace. Guilt and worry ate at her. Her frown deepened, as she stirred the contents of the bowl vigorously.

The door opened and Valdras walked in, a piece of parchment in his hand. A shit-eating grin was plastered on his face.

"Guess who wrote us…"

[-]

She stood before him, at the base of the two stairwells. Her hand over their child in her womb, the other grasping an ornate wooden staff with the symbols of Kyne etched on the top. She was dressed in an intricate, warm gown of dark green cloth and velvet. The hood framed her face, as her brown hair fell forward in the front.

Her face adorned an intricate mask of gold. It stopped below her eyes, curving backwards into a feminine sweep. This mask…it had been forbiddon by Alduin, long ago. Gifted to the Dragon Priest before the birth of his sister, the mask's creator was consumed for his transgressions; chained and eaten alive. Its mere existence almost a myth by the time he had arose to power, spoken only in hushed whispers among the higher circles. The fear of the World Eater's wraith had been absolute.

"Hello?" A small smile crossed her lips.

She heard silence in return. She swore the doors had opened. Perhaps one of the greybeards stepped outside? The mask she wore blocked her sense of smell, so she was functioning on touch and sound alone. Maybe she could go around licking things, and throw "taste" on her list of usable senses, but that probably wouldn't be the best idea…

"If you are a visitor, please have a seat. Someone will be here, shortly, to assist you. There should be some food and drink nearby. Please help yourself."

She smiled warmly, and proceeded off to the right, waddling back up the stairs, carefully.

Miraak stood there, silent. She could not sense him. A devious smile spread across his lips. He waited until she disappeared, and headed after her. Two of the Greybeards spotted him and bowed. He returned it, respectively.

A loud cry echoed from her direction. He grinned, picking up a basket of cloth on the floor, as he continued walking after her. His daughter had waited for him.

Andy felt a wetness in between her legs, and a sharp cramp. "Oh!" She leaned over, clutching around herself. She accidently landed her hand on a tray that hung over the side of a table, flinging cups full of water everywhere.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me! I'm so sorry, I'll clean it-OH!"

She heard footsteps heading towards her.

"The baby. Shit. She's coming."

She keeled over, gritting her teeth through a large contraction.

"Oh god…this hurts. _Bad_. I need drugs. A lot of drugs."

A large hand grabbed hers, and pulled her off into the direction of her quarters. She was put in front of the bed and table nearby, where she had asked them to put some cheap rags and an old robe. She started to change. She wasn't going to bleed all over whatever it was that she had on. It felt expensive, and it seemed like these old men did not have a lot of finances at their disposal.

"We will be nearby, should you require assistance." The greybeard's voice sounded through the other side of the door, as she heard it click shut. She threw on a plain robe and laid down on the bed. Her hands felt around on the coarse cloth underneath; they had put down blankets to soak up the afterbirth.

She started to cry. Laying propped up on her back, she threw a blanket over her. She was alone, in some medieval monastery, about ready to give birth with four strange old men as her nursing staff.

"God…", she sniffed, "my parents would be so fucking proud right now. Can't wait to call mom up afterwards. 'Hey, just had a kid. Can I borrow some money?'."

She sat in silence as the tears fell. Another contraction was coming. She gritted her teeth. Would anyone come back in to help her? Would she have to deliver it herself? If that was the case, she would probably need to flip over…

She felt a hand slip in hers, and she gripped it tightly. _Well, that answered that question._ It was about the size of Arngeir's; he was the nicest of the bunch. Slowly, she felt the mask she wore being lifted, and she panicked, grabbing at it.

"No, wait! I haven't heard from him, please!"

A familiar scent blossomed, and a large smile formed on her lips. The mask was tossed to the side.

"You are so… _you dickhead_." She reached for him. His arm wrap around her shoulder, as her hands found his face. Her eyebrows furrowed, as some tears fell.

"A beard? _Again?_ " He chuckled, and he leaned down, kissing her.

She gasped. Another contraction. A big one. No wait, _the_ big one.

"Yikes! I think this is it…" She bucked up, and pushed hard, feeling something tear a little, as she yelled in pain. Miraak let go of her hand and leaned over, helping to ease the infant out.

She sat there, exhausted and in pain, nervously waiting to hear anything, as her eyes darted around in darkness. Finally, she heard a baby's cry, and sighed in relief. She held out her hands, tears streaming down.

"Let me hold her, please…"

A wrapped bundle was placed in her arms, and Andy openly sobbed from the joy of bringing her daughter into the world.

 _This world._

He swept some of Andy's sweat matted hair out of her face, running a finger down to her chin and nicking it. She looked up at him, sighing, content.

A knock at the door. "How is she, Dovahkiin?"

She was rocking the swaddled infant, who had already fallen asleep. Her lips held the most radiant smile he had ever seen.

"They are both fine."

He sat next to her on the bed, putting his arms around her and his daughter.

She leaned to the side, putting her head on his shoulder. "I am so happy you are here, but extremely pissed off you fell off the face of the earth for two entire months. You've lucked out, though. I'm too tired to kick your ass."

She felt him kiss her forehead, and the familiar feeling of his healing magic began to cover her body.

"I know."

[-]

She was propped up on some pillows, nursing their newborn child. Miraak was asleep next to her. She believed this was the first rest he had received in days. There had been a few remaining cultists, and he had tirelessly run the entire length of the province, killing each and every last one. He had also found the remains of Dagoth Ur, and watched as it was burned to ashes.

She placed her hand over his brow, and brushed some of the hair out of his face. He sighed, content, deep in sleep.

Andy decided to do a quick checklist of her current situation.

1\. She was blind.

2\. She was unemployed.

3\. She just had a kid.

4\. She was unmarried.

She looked back on the sleeping father. Single wasn't exactly the correct term, but what were they? Did he even plan to stick around?

Her forehead scrunched. Probably. He was…clingy. He just needed to quit the disappearing shit. "Absently Clingly", was the best term to describe him.

As if noticing her discontent, he jarred awake. She felt him sit up, putting an arm around her, while touching their daughter with the other. He kissed her forehead.

"Miraak…"

"Yes?"

"What happens now?"

He looked at her. Even though her eyes were not focused on him, they still held the same emotions. She was concerned about the future. About him. It hurt…he had failed his mate. It would take time to regain her trust.

He stretched, then leaned back against the stone wall that served as a headboard.

"Rebuild my temple. The island is still mine by right."

A frown formed, and she ran a finger over her daughter's arm. She would instill in her better morals and ethics than her father possessed, obviously.

"Seriously, you think that's a good idea?"

He grinned.

"It is adequate. The inland is unoccupied."

She pinched her nose again.

"That's because it's a frozen shithole with a fungus problem on the southern coast. Why can't you go conquer a tropical island? I need a vacation."

Her sight had started to…change. She no longer saw only darkness. She could differentiate light and dark. It was an improvement. Whether it would ever return, she did not know. She noticed a brightness on her right, then felt something warm cast over her and the baby.

"Protection charm. Get used to it."

She snorted.

Her head tilted downwards towards their daughter. "What are we going to name her?"

"Gwengela."

Her brow and nose wrinkled. "You are out of your fucking mind."

"I am the father."

"And we're not married. Your name isn't on the birth certificate, so tough shit."

He let loose a genuine laugh.

"No really, that name is hideous."

"It was my mother's name."

She closed her eyelids, pinching her nose. "Oh my god, FINE."

She put the infant in his arms.

"Gwengela Trollbrand…welcome to Skyrim. Sorry that your father is an ass."


End file.
